Decisions In Blood
by KateCyrus
Summary: Season Two- 8 Episode Tag: When Dean almost flat lines, Sam has an emotional breakdown which drives him to drastic measures in hope of contacting his brother’s spirit. WARNING: Self Harm / Tags span from In My Time of Dying thru Cross Road Blues
1. Chapter 1

WARNING: This piece contains self harm, oh yeah, and spoilers for the season 2 premiere.

Hey there,

Still working hard on _Energies and Ice Cream_ for all of you who have been keeping tabs on its progress. Sorry, but the season 2 open momentarily derailed me into writing this short piece.

I really needed to get it out of my head. After Dean almost flat lined, the glazed, dazed look in Sam's eyes just left me needing more, so here's my more…

PS - for all of you who don't have the episode memorized, Dean's opening lines are directly from the episode.

* * *

**Decisions in Blood**

Sam backed out of the hospital room and stood numbly in the hallway. His head contained too much: to much pain, too much possibility, and now he was certain he had just heard his brother's voice.

"_Don't worry Sammy. I'm not goin' anywhere."_ Dean stood in front of his brother, talking as if he were still flesh and bones. _"I'm getting that thing before it gets me. It's some kind of spirit, but I can grab it, and if I can grab it, I can kill it."_

The glazed look in Sam's eyes remained as his lower lip began to tremble. He took an unstable step backwards.

"Sam?" Dean looked at his brother and really saw him. Dean had just been talking, talking about what he'd found out, passing the information to Sam as if they were on any other hunt. But Sam wasn't listening. Sam wasn't hearing. Sam was only thinking. Dean only disconnected himself from what he was saying when he registered his younger brother's unstable form. "Sammy?"

Sam shook his head, turned, and took off down the hallway. "Sam!" Dean ran after him through the corridors, watching his brother stumble clumsily until he finally slammed himself into one of the side doors. Sam fumbled with the knob, pushed the door open, and closed himself inside. Dean reached the door only steps after him, glanced at the men's symbol posted on the outside, then grabbed for the knob. As his hand went through it, Dean cursed. He backed away, took two deep breaths, then…

Dean stepped through the door.

He came out on the other side into a small one person bathroom. Toilet and sink to his right, towel dispenser and in-wall trash can to his left.

"Shit, that was way too easy," Dean said patting his chest down and glancing at his body to make sure everything was still there. Then he saw Sam.

Sam stood in the corner facing the wall, leaning into it, right arm held high in front of him, palm pushed flat against the tiles. He slowly scrubbed his other hand down his face, then let his head drop and hang as he gasped heavily trying to catch his breath. Dean just stared at him, pissed at himself for not noticing sooner how all this was tearing his kid brother apart. He took a step to Sam's side and bent down slightly, trying to get a look at his brother's face.

"Sammy? Aw Sam don't. Don't. Come on man, pull yourself together. It'll be okay… it will."

Sam turned away from him, rolling himself against the wall until his back was pressed full into the corner of the room. He braced himself up with shaking legs as he stared out at nothing, his breath increasingly unsteady, his eyes caught deep in suffering.

Dean turned away unable to stand the look on Sam's face. He knew how much pain Sam carried, but seeing it was different.

"No… no…" Dean heard his brother whimper. He turned back to find tears sliding down Sam's cheeks and onto his lips, salt burning into the still open cuts on his recently wounded face. "I can't anymore… I can't… I can't…," Sam blurted shaking his head at the world.

"Sam, don't talk like that! Be strong. Be strong for me," Dean stated firmly.

Sam puffed out small breaths and brought a hand over his eyes. He pulled it down with the tears and covered his mouth trying to keep in the sounds that so needed to escape him. Slowly his strength subsided, and he slid down the wall, his bottom hitting the cold tile floor with a bump. He brushed the tears off his face hiccupping and whimpering, then pulled his knees to his chest, and let his head fall forward onto them, burying himself in anguish. Dean knelt next to him.

"Sam…" he began, then stopped. There was nothing to say. Even if he were actually there, able to be heard, he wouldn't have know what to say to his brother to make it all go away. Dean's eyes deepened, and slowly came to resemble his brother's. He reached a hand forward, held it just above Sam's head, then dropped it down into his hair, literally into it… through it.

Sam's head jolted up with a harsh shiver. He pulled his arms around himself and looked out into the empty room before him, hesitated, then spoke on pure belief.

"Dean?" he questioned trying to steady his breath. Dean already had his arm back at his own side as he stared at his brother, startled, unsure how to answer him, unsure how to let him know he was really there.

"Dean? Are you…" Sam stumbled with his thoughts and words, "are you… here?"

"Yeah… yeah man, I'm here… don't give up on me," Dean whispered as his thoughts pulled in on him. Suddenly Sam was standing and stumbling to the sink. Dean gazed at his brother, unsteadied by the look in the kid's eyes. "Sam?" Dean slowly got up and walked over to him.

Sam stood with his hands braced on either side of the porcelain basin, staring directly into the mirror, eyes growing bloodshot with reckoning.

"Sammy… what the hell's going though that head of yours?" Dean asked, knowing from experience trouble was brewing.

Sam's eyes dropped shut, and his breath finally calmed as he seemed to come to some sort of resolve. He opened his eyes again and stared out blankly.

"I'm coming Dean…" Sam said in an deep exhale, "I'm coming…"

"What'd you mean by that?" Dean asked uneasily.

Sam let go of the sink and reached into his pants pocket. He pulled out his keys, and unlatched something from the ring. Sam held a small pocket knife in his hand. He stared at it for a moment, then snapped open the blade.

Dean's eyes flared as he started to piece together Sam's reasoning.

"Sam… Sam what do you think you're doing with that?"

Sam turned his left arm over, exposing its tender underside, and cut the blade across his wrist.

"Sam no!" Dean grabbed at his brother, but his hands simply pushed through him. Sam winced and tightened his lips as he sliced again, just as deep, and slightly higher up on his arm. "No Sam, stop! Stop it!" Dean yelled. How could he be this close, directly in front of him, yet completely helpless to stop his brother's actions?

Sam wavered slightly as he watched the dark blood stream from his arm. He grabbed hold of the sink and steadied himself.

"Sam put the damn knife down and go get help!"

Sam sliced two more times quickly, one above the next, moving up his arm. "Sammy!" Dean shouted, then slowly pushed his hands through his hair as both his eyes and tone softened. "Aw Christ," he whispered, "Christ."

Sam dropped the knife into the sink. It hit with a clink and slid through the blood and dripping water down to settle by the drain. Sam looked at himself in the mirror one last time, then grabbed his bleeding arm and staggered backwards. He dropped to his knees continuing to hold his bloody gateway to his older brother out in front of him, as all Dean could do was watch.

"Sammy… Sammy please…" Dean begged. Sam let his eyes shut with hope as he dropped back and landed with a hard crack to the tiles.

"NO!" Dean screamed. Sam settled to the floor unconscious, his color draining, his slashed arm out at his side, lying in a rapidly widening pool of blood.

Dean stood above his brother. He wanted so much to touch him, to reach down, lift him up, and carry him to safety, to somebody, anybody who would fix him. He couldn't. He couldn't touch him; he couldn't lift him; he couldn't save him, not in the manner which he had come to take for granted. Dean moved to the door. _The lock,_ he worried. Dean focused his energy and hit at it. It took a couple of tries but eventually the knob turned and the lock popped open from its center. Satisfied that someone could at least get to his brother, Dean pushed back through the door and began screaming at everyone he saw. "Somebody help! Help me!" As no one responded, Dean remembered he was speaking with breath he no longer possessed. _Dad_, he though with hope. Dean ran through the halls to his father's room only to find it empty. "No… no… DAD!" He yelled rushing back into the hallway and down to his own room.

John stood in front of Dean's bed staring at his oldest son. Dean pushed in front of him.

"Dad! It's Sammy, I need you to come with me, I need you to come now!" Dean begged. John just stood looking through his son, at his son. "Dad please, you've gotta hear me. Sam's dying!" Dean slowly backed down. He had hoped that like Sam, his father would be able to sense he was there, but John clearly felt nothing.

Dean stepped behind his father trying to think of what to do. He had to get him to Sam fast, the blood was pouring out of him; his brother couldn't have much time. "Dad!" He yelled again, and as John remained unmoved, Dean suddenly realized he had been focusing his efforts, when what he needed to be focusing was his energy.

Dean pulled on all of his frustration and all of his fear, then channeled it into the sole purpose of saving his brother. He tightened his fists, clinched his jaw, and let out a guttural yawp as he pushed himself into his father.

John felt a shiver run though him and suddenly his thoughts shifted from one son to the other.

"Sammy," John said under his breath. He turned from Dean's bed and headed out of the room and back down the hallway. John picked up his pace, although he wasn't sure why. He moved quickly until he came to the closed door of a men's room a couple of corridors away. As John reached the door, Dean fell backwards out of his father's body. Exhausted, Dean collapsed to sit on the floor just behind his dad. John stared calmly at the door unsure of what he was doing here.

"Open it, damn it!" Dean yelled at his father's hesitation.

John pushed opened the door to find his youngest son lying in a thick pool of his own blood.

"Sammy?" He questioned, still not comprehending what he was looking at, then it clicked. "Help! I need help in here!" John shouted. Dean sighed, overwhelmed with the relief of hearing the words screamed by someone who could actually be heard. John pushed the door into the room, kicked the doorstop to the floor, and rushed to his son. Dean watched his father hesitate before touching Sam, much as he had done himself several minutes earlier, then listened in shock and horror as he took in his father's words.

"No…" John whispered, "not both of them… not both of them." John pulled his hurt arm from its sling and lifted Sam into his arms. He turned Sam's lifeless face into his chest and as the reality of the situation set in, John cried out harshly, pleading to save what he believed he had lost years ago. "Somebody help my son!"

Dean backed himself away as a doctor quickly moved into the room. He glanced blankly at the floor, then turned and looked behind him as two more people rushed past. As he began to shift his focus back into the room, he noticed someone standing behind him. Dean scanned his eyes from floor to face, then pushed himself up unsteadily, unable to remove his focus from the tall and stoic form of his brother.

Sam stood next to him staring blankly into the room, hurt and confusion in his expression as he watched his father cradle his limp, bloody, body. He never even noticed Dean was in front of him.

"Sammy?" Dean spoke to him lightly. Sam's lip trembled as he continued to take in the scene before him. Dean took a breath, then reached out and actually touched his brother. "Shit," he gasped unhappy with the contact, knowing full well what it meant. He pushed his brother away from the room and attempted to bring the kid's focus onto him. "Sam," he tried again. Sam finally shifted his vision and made eye contact with his brother.

"Dean?" he asked shakily. "I…"

"Sam what are you doin'? You're not suppose to be here."

"Look at him, Dean," Sam said gazing past his brother to his father. "He's actually scared of losing me. I… I can't believe it."

"What! Yeah he's scared! I'm scared! You're not suppose to be here, Sam!" Dean grabbed his brother firmly and shook him. "Sam, what the hell were you thinking?"

"I … I came to help _you_," Sam explained, toughening up. "I…"

"No Sam, not like this," Dean stated firmly.

"Then how? How Dean? Tell me how to help you. I _need_ to help you!"

"I don't know Sam, I just know not like this!"

"Well I'm not leaving until we figure it out, Dean."

"Yes you are. Go back in your body, Sam!"

"No!" Sam pushed away from him. "I have to help you, I _did this_ to help you!"

"Well it's not helping, it's only putting you in the same situation! Go back! We'll find another way."

"What other way, Dean? Tell me, 'cause I'd love to hear how you're gonna fix this!"

"I don't…"

"You don't know, do you? Do you! And that's why I'm not leaving, Dean! I'm not! I'm…" Sam dropped his words and broke down, "I… I can't leave you Dean… don't… don't leave me Dean," he whimpered. "Please don't leave me. Please." Sam dropped his head into his hands, crying.

"Sammy…" Dean began softly, overwhelmed by his brother's current frailty. Sam lifted his head back up and brushing the tears from his face, looked into his brother's eyes.

"I'm scared, Dean… I… what if… what…" Dean stared at him. He wanted them to be together, he wanted Sam to stay, but he knew things couldn't be fixed like this.

"I'll wake up Sam," Dean stated with false confidence. "We'll figure it out, but you have to trust me and go back to your body. Now."

Sam could feel it pulling to him. He grabbed his brother by the arms and tried to hang on. "Dean please," he begged. "You have to… I can't…"

"You can… and you will," Dean stated calmly. "Go Sammy, I'll be right behind you. As soon as I figure out how."

Sam stared blankly at a lose for words, slowly coming to believe his brother was right. After a moment he drifted. He swayed away from Dean, then fell forward onto him.

"Sammy?" He panicked. Sam looked up at Dean, then suddenly pulled through him. Dean grabbed himself and coiled forward, as he felt his brother's emotions shoot painfully through his chest. He had never felt so much emotional suffering, never. Dean steadied himself as he heard the sounds from the room behind him; he turned when he heard his name.

"Dean… Dean…" Sam moaned from his wounded position on the bathroom floor.

"It's okay Sammy…" John comforted, "Dean will be okay. I promise, he'll be okay. Just stay with me son. Stay with me."

"Dean… Dean…" Sam continued to moan breathily, his head tossing as he slowly began to come to. Dean stepped away from the door as the doctor and a couple of nurses prepared to move Sam onto a gurney. Once Sam had been moved, they rolled him from the room and headed down the hall. As the room cleared, John hung back.

John silently glanced the room, then stepped out into the hall trying to recollect exactly what it was that had brought him here.

"Forget me dad," Dean said, recognizing the reason behind his father reluctance to leave. "Go be with Sammy. He needs you." John looked towards Dean, but not at him. "Go," Dean repeated, sacrificing his own need for his father, in return for the knowledge that his brother would be safely watched over by somebody who could physically protect him. John scrubbed a hand down his face, and walked away.

Dean stepped back into the bathroom, stared at the blood on the floor, then at the knife in the sink. He could still feel his brother's pain inside the room, inside himself. For the first time Dean realized he needed to get back into his body not only for himself, but for his brother. "Shit Sammy," he gasped under his breath as he fell into the corner of the room and dropped slowly to the floor. "How the hell am I gonna get back to you? I just wanna get back." Dean's fear crept up on him. He pulled his knees to his chest, and clung to the echoing feeling of his brother's pain. It was all he had.

Two corridors away John Winchester followed the moving gurney. He had made his decision, only now did he see how it would save both his sons.

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Thanks for reading. Please let me know your thoughts with a review if you have the time. And if you like, help me gauge my angst: on an angst-o-meter of 1 to 10 - ten being mucho angst - rate this piece!

I secretly just wanted to say - _angst-o-meter_ : )

Thanks!

Kate


	2. Chapter 2

Before I get started:

Thanks to everyone who reviewed and asked for more - this chapter is here because of you. Thanks to Mishka for telling me to just go for it, carocali for your offer to help, and mostly thanks to melja for helping me flush out the overall idea and for kicking your thoughts back to me over the past few days - that was what made this fun : )

Okay - so this was a oneshot, and I had really planned on keeping it that way, but then the damn thoughts crept into my head again, and several of you asked for more. I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this, but if you're willing to read - I'm willing to write. This isn't what I thought it would be… this is what came out.

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**Decisions In Blood**

**CH 2**

John entered the hospital recovery room registering quickly that his youngest son was standing, not lying down as he should be.

"Sam, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Putting my clothes on," Sam said as he struggled to pull his shirt on over the bandaging of his left arm.

"You shouldn't be up yet," John said crossing the room to him.

"I wanna see Dean,"

"You can see him after you've rested."

"I have rested."

"Not enough, lie down."

"I'm fine, and I'm going." Sam turned quickly and shoved past his father towards the door, half way there everything went black.

Sam wasn't about to let a little detail like darkness heed his progress. He quickened his step and kept walking as if he could see, intent on the idea that the head rush would pass before he exited the room. And it may have, had he not slammed straight into the rolling table that blocked his path.

"Sammy!" John yelled more scolding, than concerned, as he grabbed his son and hefted his heavy body onto the bed. Sam's vision returned quickly revealing his father's pissed expression.

"Shit," Sam blurted, punching his fist hard into the edge of the table which had stopped him. It rolled across the room and came to a bumping stop as it collided with the wall.

John's expression softened and he laughed slightly at his son.

"What? You think this is funny?" Sam blurted angrily.

"No Sam, I … I think that table got exactly what it deserved." John smirked, shaking his head. "You really are as pig headed as me. You know that?" Sam rolled his eyes and sunk back into the bed, almost laughing… almost.

"Now stay here and rest for a while. Give it another hour."

"Fine," Sam gave in.

John got up and began to leave the room.

"Where are you going?"

"Back to my own room," John responded not missing Sam's consistently suspicious tone. "I'm not exactly supposed to be up either." With that, John headed out the door, back to his room, and past it.

Sam gave it a good three minutes, then stood, left the room, and left the hospital. He had remembered nothing, just the sharp pain of hitting the cold tile floor, and then waking up in the hospital bed, alone, his bandaged arm an unmistakable sign he had failed; failed his brother; failed himself.

Since his first method of contacting Dean hadn't worked, he decided to try something else, and to do that, he needed to pick something up. Had Sam been rational, his next method would have been his first. But he was not rational, he was broken, overwhelmed, and very near the point of losing hope.

He had cut himself to save his brother's life, that's what he had told himself, that's what he had decided as he stared himself down in the mirror. He would put his own life in jeopardy, and it would be fine, it would be fine because he had nothing to lose, nothing to lose should neither of them come back. But in taking that step, Sam had been hit with something unexpected. Between the time of decision and the sound of cracking tiles, Sam had foun stillness… silence… solace.

* * *

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Sam sat in the dirt, his back pressed against the trunk of some random car in the lot, his knees pulled up to him, his head pressed into them, rocking… rocking… left to right as he repeated the words uncontrolled to himself.

Sam had made his decision.

He would go to his brother, tell him he was right, tell him it was too little, too late, and tell him how badly he was hurting. Then he would walk away.

He had played the scenario out in his head, played it until it was stale. Each time he would walk away, drop to the ground, back against a car, and cry, turn in on himself until he heard it…

quiet… stoic… healing.

"Sam," his brother said his name from a spot only just above him. "Sam," he said it again, now just next to his face. The hand came to his shoulder, and without looking up, his brother pulled him, crying and shaking into a strong hold. As Sam pressed his face hard into his brother's chest, Dean did the one thing Sam needed, he simply held him.

"I can't do this alone," Sam sobbed. "I can't… maybe that's what you need. You need me to leave you alone, but I can't. I can't Dean. I can't… I… I need you, man. I need you, so I keep pushing, and pushing, because I can't handle this. I can't handle this on my own. I… I'm sorry… I'm sorry… I'm sorry…. I'm sorry…" With these words he felt Dean pull him tighter, felt Dean press his chin down gently onto the top of his head. Sam shut his eyes, felt his brother all around him, and slipped calmly into the solace of his brother's warmth.

That's how it had ended in Sam's head. No matter how he played it, his brother had come after him, his brother had held him, his brother had made everything stop.

That's not how it happened.

Sam was halfway to the house when he heard it, heard the glass shatter from a distance behind him. He turned around, startled as hell, and stood in shock watching from an obscured view as his brother beat the shit of the trunk of the Impala. Sam started to shake, and as his legs went weak, he slowly sunk to the ground and crouched behind the trunk of one of the cars. He continued to watch, his chest clinching with every hit, until Dean finally tossed the crowbar aside and just stood there, completely static.

Sam twisted away and hid himself fully behind the vehicle as he brushed the tears out of his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths, then turned back, only to find his brother was gone.

Sam rolled back behind the car and dropped down to the dirt. He sat as he had pictured himself, back to the trunk, knees to his chest, head dropped onto them. Sam held himself as a sharp shudder raced though his body, he would not be hearing his brother's voice.

Dean remembered nothing, nothing of the time Sam had suspected his brother's spirit to be roaming the halls of the hospital. Had Dean remembered, Dean would know. Dean would know what he had gone through, Dean would know what he had done. Sam knew he would be mad, and he would be protective, keeping an eye on him at every turn. Sam had been thankful for his brother's memory loss… had been. Now, if Dean knew, maybe he would listen to him, protect him, help him.

But Dean didn't know, only his father had known. Sam wanted to believe his father had cared, that he had given a shit. But John hadn't heard, John hadn't listened. John simply ignored what happened, treating Sam's wound like an injury from a hunt, the everyday scar of a warrior. Sam had wanted his father to ask, to yell, to be furious, to reprimand him for almost taking his life, but the one time John could have made things right by yelling at his son, had been the one time he kept silent.

_Why didn't he care?_ Sam's head pounded. _How could he not care that I almost died? _

The moment Sam could stand, he had blown off his father's bullshit orders, and rushed out of the hospital, hastily returning with a ouija board. He sat quietly in Dean's room, spreading it out on the floor before him, asking his brother to hold his usual comments to himself. When the planchette moved, he spoke of what he'd done only once.

"I guess what I tried was pretty stupid, huh?" Sam said quietly. Upon releasing the comment into the stillness of the room, Sam received the planchette sliding response of 'yes', and it was never touched upon again. He figured Dean had left it at 'yes' because it would take insanely long to spell out, 'Sam, I'm gonna kick your ass if you try anything like that again!' At least, those were the words he had created and clung to in his head, knowing Dean would never have responded with the hurtful silence his father had issued.

But now…

Now his father was gone, and his brother was completely despondent of the entire situation.

_Fuck him! Fuck him,_ Sam thought. Sam focused on how he had put himself out there, stood in front of his brother and admitted he was right. It was too late to fix things with their father, too late to be a good son, too late to be forgiven. He had laid himself out in all his vulnerability, and god damn him, nothing.

Dean gave him nothing.

Couldn't Dean see he was hurting? Couldn't Dean see he was lost? Couldn't Dean see he needed him, that he was indirectly begging for his damn help?

He hated Dean for holding it all inside. Hated him for keeping to himself and working on his car. Hated him if that was what he needed to cope. Maybe he should respect that, respect what Dean needed, but couldn't Dean take five fucking minutes to make sure his kid brother was okay? Couldn't he take five minutes to show he gave a shit about fixing something other that his fucking car?

Dean could pretend he didn't care about John all he wanted. But Dean would never need to pretend he didn't care about Sam. So far as Sam was concerned, his brother had made it dramatically clear he didn't care about him. At least, this is how Sam's messed up mind was beginning to piece things together.

It all hurt, it all collided, it all rambled inside his head. Sam clutched his scalp pleading for it to stop. Just stop.

Sam brushed over the bandage on his arm.  
The commitment, the cutting, the calm.

It was the only time Sam could remember feeling content in the past year, like he had control over something, like he had control over making it stop.

The voices in his head, the taunting, the self torture, the consistent what if's that never shut the fuck up. The worry, the wishes, the intense wear it had taken on him. Sam shook as his head continued to fill with thoughts: horrific, unstoppable, unmanageable thoughts. He slammed his fist into his head wanting it to end, pleading for it to end with each pounding hit. He had lived with it for so long, waiting and enduring as it continued to fill, and grow, and sprout, and breed more and more pain inflicting thought, out of thought, out of thought, until his mind and chest felt tangled in sharp thorny vines, gripping, and piercing, and constricting.

He had craved for it to stop, and now, looking down at the bandage, he remembered that feeling of calm, of resolve, of hope, all granted by something overwhelmingly simple which he had failed to grasp prior to that moment. It had all been ended by a decision, one quick decision.

He wouldn't need a knife, all he needed was to decide. If he tore hard enough, he could simply re-open what he had, he could bleed like last time, he could have his decision, he could have his solace.

But it wouldn't be like last time.

_You can't… you can't… _Sam pulled his arm hard to his chest_. Last time it was for him… this wouldn't be for him… this would destroy him. _

Sam despised himself for considering it. He couldn't. He couldn't take the path which lay so clearly before him. Sam sunk into himself and clutched at his scalp. The voices were thickening. His knowledge of the decision bore through his skull and instead of resolving, became another afflicting voice in the crowd.

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Thoughts? More? Let me know - rate on the angst-o-meter if you like - I don't find this chapter to be quite as angsty as the last- but you're the experts : )

-Kate

PS- EIC ch6 - aka: 'the strip club chapter' will be up soon - I promise!


	3. Chapter 3

Okay - so here we go again.

I kept writing, and stuff came out.

I need to send a serious thanks to melja for reading and sending me feedback over the past few days - couldn't have gotten this done without you!

And thanks to everyone else who read and reviewed. I'm being serious when I say that these chapters would not exhist if the reviews weren't coming with encouragment and discussion. - not to mention the occational, but blatant begging for more : )

As for the story - much like the first two chapters this chapter hooks up to episode 3 - Bloodlust, so there are definate spoilers. But more importatnly, unlike chapters 1 & 2 where I sort of tag from one spot in the episode, chapter 3 skips around trhought all of Bloodlust - so you sort of need to know the episode if you're gonna read this chapter.

I try to include enough set up each time I skip to a new section just to make sure it's clear where we're at. Hopefully it is. That said, there is some dialogue directly from the episode towards the end - I indicated that dialogue with both quotes and itallics.

So enough lead in - here ya go -

* * *

Decisions In Blood 

Ch 3

_You can't… you can't…_ Sam pulled his arm hard to his chest. _Last time it was for him… this wouldn't be for him… this would destroy him._

Sam leaned his head back against the trunk of the car and looked briefly to the sky, realizing. After a moment he pulled his eyes shut, grabbed at his scalp, and dropped his head forward as he let the voices come.

Dean stood at a distance watching his brother suffer from an obscured view. _I can't… I can't… _He thought harshly. Dean turned away. He had smashed out the window, he had smashed in the car. It felt good, it felt like relief. He had his own way of dealing. Different from his brother's, but it worked, it worked for him. His way would be time, time to cope, time to recover, time to fight: punch after punch, stab after stab, shot after shot, whatever it took. However long, however hard, his grief would work its way out. It had to. It had to. And Sammy couldn't be any part of that. He just couldn't. Dean's face tightened as he glanced back at his brother.

_I don't care that he needs me; he always needs me. I'll do what I said. Keep my promise. Watch out for him. But grieve with him? Open up and give him what he… god damn it, Sammy! _Dean's fists drew tight as his thoughts progressed._ He can't fix me! He can't solve me! He can't save me! Look at him. He can't even save himself! Yet he keeps marching over here, throwing out hooks, and thinking I'll bite. I won't bite! I won't hook! I won't grieve the way he wants me to! He needs to get that into his fucking head!_

Dean continued to watch as his brother almost on cue began punching his fist into the side of his head.

_There ya go Sammy, pound it in. Pound my message into your fucking head, cause I'm tired of trying to make myself clear. I don't need you to save me, and I don't have the energy to save you. This isn't for you to fix, and if your way of grieving is by trying to fix me, than you'd better go find another vice, cause you can't push your grief into me, the way I've been pushing mine into that car. _

_Christ, what did I do to the fucking car? _

* * *

Dean crouched into his fighting stance and threw the punches down hard. Sam had gotten Gordon clear of the saw, and that meant it was all him, him and the vampire. He stood on the dock at the mill and immersed himself into each swing. He felt the bone break beneath his fist, and reveled in the wet cracking sound it made. He grabbed the saw, and brought it down slowly, pressing all his strength into it, thrilled that he could give it that extra shove when it hesitated at the stubbornness of the bones. Blood splattered his face like mud stomped up playfully during a childish romp in the rain, and that's almost what it was like. Like re-discovering a childhood game he'd forgotten he loved. 

Sam's breath stopped as he gazed at his brother. He could still see the crowbar in his hands, he could still hear the pounding of metal in his head. This was no fixable, replaceable, hunk of metal, this was something that felt pain and suffering. This was different, but the anger was exactly the same. Sam wanted that anger, Dean's anger, he wanted it brought onto himself full force. Sam stood on the dock and gave Dean the criticizing stare he knew he was suppose to, but inside… he just wanted that anger. If anger was all Dean had to give, then that's what Sam planned to take.

* * *

**  
**

Sam sat on the bed in the motel room. He had blown out of the bar in his usual huff towards Dean. It wasn't much, but it was a beginning. He didn't need to fake how he felt. He was flat out pissed. Pissed at his brother, pissed at Gordon, pissed at the whole damn situation. Always the outsider, he'd sat with the other men listening to them gloat and reminisce about good times which had only happened about sixty minutes earlier. _What the fuck?_ Sam thought. He didn't like Gordon, and he didn't trust Gordon, and the fact that Dean was buddying up, and throwing the guy in his face like some poster child for hunters, only fueled the anger Sam planned on using to bait his brother.

Sam did his own reminiscing. He pictured the punches flying as they had at the mill, just as hard, just as vengeful, just as damaging, but each landing on him. Punch after relentless punch Dean would beat him, beat him to a bloody mess. He would put up a fight, he would have to, but only enough to keep Dean going, only enough to keep him invested. He had a plan, and he would carry it through no matter what it took, anything… anything just to get Dean to touch him. Just touch him.

Sam dropped back onto the bed. His head hurt like hell, it seemed to always hurt like hell. He shut his eyes and dug his knuckles into his skull. He could feel them coming, the voices, his damn voices. They were so distinct, each representing a different side of him. They were nothing more than his own internal voices, and this simple fact mislead him to believe he could control them, he could silence them. He couldn't…

…_what the fuck do you think your planning, Sam? You can't do this to him. _

_You have to do this to him._

_I can't take this. Just go away!_

…_if you force Dean to brutalize you to the severity you need…_

_It won't stop otherwise, it won't go away._

_Shut up! Get the fuck out of my head! I can't think straight!_

…_he'll only fall deeper. _

_It's the only way to make it stop._

_Please make it stop… I can't… I can't anymore…_

…_he'll hate himself more than he already does._

_This is the only way. The only way to silence it._

_Please silence it…. just… make it stop!_

…_it'll be your fault, Sam. You'll have done it to him. _

_You have to do it to him._

_I can't do it to him… I… I… _

…_to your own brother._

_It's this or the blade. You decide._

_I did decide!_

…_both will destroy him, but if you make it at his own hand…_

_Decide Sam._

"No!"

…_decide._

_Decide… _

"NO!" Sam screamed and rolled off the bed onto the floor. He knelt on the carpet banging his head into the side of the mattress, screaming into his head for it to stop.

_...leave your brother the fuck out of it._

_You can't handle this much longer… _

"I KNOW THAT! " Sam screamed at the room as he stood and moved to the dresser. "Don't you think I fucking know that!" He grabbed his bag and rummaged through it. "And I will… I'll leave him alone!" Sam pulled a small bottle of prescription painkillers from his bag. "I'll fucking leave Dean alone, just… leave_ me _alone!" He grabbed the short tumbler style motel glass from the side dresser and stumbled into the bathroom. He filled it with water, and set it down on the sink.

"Ahhh." Sam gasped and pressed the back of his hand into his temple. "It hurts," he cried. "Why the fuck does it hurt like this? So much?" Sam weakened momentarily, then shook it off. He pushed down on the safety lid to the pills with his palm and twisted. The damn things wouldn't open. "Fuck!" He pressed on the bottle again. He had no idea how they'd acquired them, he didn't really give a shit, he'd found them in their supply of meds, and they were the only thing that seemed to help his headaches. Sam kept pressing and twisting, but the bottle wouldn't cooperate.

…_you're right to leave Dean out of it._

_You still need to fix it, to find a way._

"Shut the fuck…" suddenly the lid twisted open, and taking the bottle with it, popped completely out of Sam's hands. "NO!" Over half the pills burst into the sink. "No…" Sam gazed at the pills. He needed them, they were all that helped, and now the greater part of his supply was melting in the sink. "Shit!"

Sam picked up his usual dosage of two, threw them into his throat, washed them down with the water, then looked back down.

The small red pills shined up at him all bright and bleeding into the wet sink.

Sam picked up two more and swallowed. He stood staring at the rest, absorbing, processing, _the pain… the fucking pain_. Sam ran his hand through the sink skimming up the remainder of the pills, then threw them into his mouth, licking the bitter remains off his palms in a furious panic. There were at least twenty, and he would need to take more. He held them in his mouth, then tilted his head back and dumped the remainder of the bottle onto his tongue.

Sam stared at himself in the mirror, holding the pills in his mouth, and the water in his hand. Another voice entered his head, a voice that wasn't like the others.

_Sam what are you doin'?_

_Dean? _

_Sam what are you doin'? _

_Going crazy. Putting a stop to going crazy._

_No Sam, not like this. _

_I… I have to, Dean._

_No Sam, not like this._

_I can't feel this way anymore, Dean. I can't spit these out. _

_You can… and you will!_

Dean's voice slammed into his head hard and before he knew what he was doing, Sam found himself leaning over the trash can spitting the pills from his mouth. He hurled them out, then gazed longingly at their remains. They lined the can in a messy spattering of white chalky clumps. Small bits of them still wore their red coating, but most of that had either bled out onto the sink, or melted away in Sam's mouth. He could taste it, bitter and vile. Sam shifted his focus to the taste in his mouth, then began to gag. Coughing and spitting he pushed himself off the floor and bolted out of the room, then out of the motel.

Sam pulled the door shut, then fell against it and slid down to the floor. _What the fuck was that? _ He questioned. _Dean's voice, it was too clear, too real, and those words… they were… I've heard those words._

Sam shook it off. _No… no… just forget it. Just…_ Sam ran his mouth along his sleeve, wiping the remaining spit and pill residue away. As he did, the fabric pushed along his arm, up towards his elbow, revealing his scars. They were almost gone, all that remained were four faint lines. He hadn't done it. Hadn't reopened them when he had the chance, and now, should he choose that exit, he'd be forced to return to the blade. But he wasn't going to choose that, he wasn't going to cut, he wasn't going to bait Dean, and he wasn't going to swallow pills. Sam pulled his sleeve over his scars, then rolled his head back against the door. He looked up at the clear night sky, laughing slightly as his eyes glazed over with tears. _I'm stuck,_ he thought with a sigh, _I'm really stuck._

Sam was sick of this. He was done for the night. He stood, brushed his tears away, shook off the remaining pain, and headed towards the soda machine. He needed something to wash the putrid pill taste out of his mouth.

* * *

"_You're good. You're a monster pain in the ass, but you're good,"_ Dean somewhat complimented his brother upon realizing Sam had figured out exactly how to get back to the nest, even though he'd been blindfolded. 

Dean tried to wrap his head around what had happened in the past few hours. All he had done was toss Sam the keys and let him leave the bar, let him leave the bar to go be his normal, broody, above having a good time, self. That was less than a few hours ago and in the time which passed, Dean had returned to the motel to find it empty, spent a good twenty minutes with Gordon silently worrying about the fact that Sam wasn't there, and when Sam finally did show up, greeted his brother with a fight and a punch. His brother had been kidnapped by vampires, and now they were on route to chase Gordon down and if Sam had his way help those vampires?

Dean drove the Impala down the dark night road, following his brothers directions to the nest. It wasn't a long drive, but it was quiet, and Dean entrenched himself in that quiet as he tried to wrap his head around not the events of the night, but the events of the past ten minutes.

_What the hell happened back there? _Dean questioned himself._ You punched him. You swore you wouldn't take it out on him, and then you just straight out punch him, and you were proud of it. Idiot. _Dean paused, then continued, playing both sides. _It's not like he wasn't asking for it. He was seriously asking for it. I mean that crap he said, even if it were true… well some of it was true… the hole was true. But that shit about replacing Dad with Gordon? That was a big damn leap. I could see if I'd been hanging with the guy for a couple of months, but it was a few damn hours. What the hell was he thinking saying that shit? It was like he was trying to provoke… me… _

A cold shiver ran down Dean's neck_. Holy shit. He wanted me to hit him. _

Sam sighed as he studied the map, and Dean glanced over. Sam could feel Dean staring at him, he was sure of it. He turned quickly, but as he did, Dean turned away, setting his eyes back on the road. Sam hesitated, then returned reluctantly and suspiciously to his map.

* * *

Sam stood just outside the truck watching the sunrise, thinking about how different this morning would be if vampires really were 'allergic' to daylight. But they weren't, and so the large group of docile vampires he had spent the night helping pack and prepare to get out of town would get in their vehicles and flee via a sun flooded street.

Sam sighed, stepped up to the back door of the truck, and opened it.

"Hey," he said peering inside with a friendly smile. Lenore was in the back seat, slumped against the far door, resting, recovering. She returned his smile.

"Hi, Sam," she said weakly. "Sit down for a minute?" She lightly patted the seat next to her.

Sam stepped inside and sat down. He took a good look at her. She was still weak, but her wounds were already healing. It seemed like she'd be okay.

"How ya feeling?" He asked, genuinely concerned.

"I'll live… thank you for that," she said.

"You don't need to thank me," he insisted. "I just… I'm sorry you got hurt."

"Sam, you had no control over what Gordon did, you only had control over what you did, and you _listened_. Thank you for listening to us. Thank you for _believing_ us." Sam heard her out, then smiled, feeling sort of good for what he'd done.

"You're welcome," he gave in. The moment the words exited his mouth, Lenore leaned forward, wrapped her arms around him, and pulled him into a hug.

Sam tensed at first, the feeling was so damn foreign to him, he'd forgotten what it felt like to be held, actually held. A strange shivering wave rippled through him, and as he shut his eyes, he suddenly found himself gripping his arms around her, squeezing her closer. A shudder of relief passed through him, and he gasped slightly. _What are you doing?_ He thought, suddenly panicked. He abruptly pulled away.

Lenore leaned back into her seat, from the look on her face, she had clearly noticed something was up.

"You okay?" She asked in a gentle, nurturing tone.

"Yeah… yeah…" Sam blew it off. "I'm fine," he said shaking his head. Lenore smiled slightly, and lured his eyes to face her.

"Ya know, Sam…" she began slowly, "back at the house, when Eli and I had you tied to that chair, and we were discussing what we planned to do with you… I noticed the strangest thing." There was a long pause of silence between them, as Lenore stared him down in a calculating manner.

"Yeah, what was that?" Sam finally prompted.

"When I leaned forward and said we were going to let you go, return you _unhurt_, without a mark on you, I could have sworn I saw… _disappointment_ in your eyes."

Sam held his gaze as he swallowed a thick knot of air. _Shit,_ he thought. _Shit._ A feeling of both fear and relief pulsed through his chest.

"I um…" he fumbled awkwardly, then dropped his words and shook his head as if he didn't know what she was talking about.

Lenore studied him: his bottom lip trembled, his eyes gave away everything. He was holding back, he was hurting so bad inside he had no idea what to make of it. There wasn't much she could do given their relationship and the little time they had. She did what she could.

"It's okay Sam," she said soothingly, "you need to _trust_ things will be okay."

Sam gagged slightly as his chest restricted upon hearing her words. His eyes glazed with tears, which he skillfully held back. Sam fidgeted uncomfortably, then retreated to staring hard at the floor. He pushed a couple of breaths out his nose trying to steady himself, then brought his head back up, and looking her square in the eyes, lip stiff, nodded firmly. Lenore simply cocked her head, she wasn't through with him.

"That was a pretty lame fight you tried to pick with Eli," she continued. Sam stared at her, knowing exactly what she meant.

"Yeah," he finally admitted, slightly laughing at his stupidity. "Yeah it really was. I um… _tough talk_ isn't exactly my thing."

"It showed," she said bluntly.

"Yeah," Sam agreed, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah."

Lenore gazed at him, then reached up and unexpectedly placed her hand on the side of his face. Sam glanced to where she was touching him, then nervously looked her in the eyes.

"Sam," she said, her tone serious, "the next time you try to pick a fight, I won't be there to put a stop to it." She gave him a reprimanding stare, in hope of solidify her point. "Be careful." Sam nodded quickly, then turned away.

"I gotta go," he said stepping from the truck. Sam grabbed the door, paused, glancing at her one last time, and as he nodded goodbye, pushed the door shut.

* * *

"_When I killed that vampire at the mill I didn't even think about it, hell I even enjoyed it,"_ Dean admitted. 

"_You didn't kill Lenore,"_ Sam retuned.

"_No, but every instinct told me to, I was gonna kill her, I was gonna kill them all."_

"_Yeah Dean, but you didn't,"_ Sam said pointedly, _"and that's what matters."_

"_Yeah…"_

Dean stood leaning against the driver's side door, arms on the roof, absorbing his brother's words as Sam watched him from the other side of the car. _Throw him a bone, _Dean urged himself,_ he's trying to help you. Hell, he is helping you._

"_Because you're a pain in my ass,"_ Dean finally returned. Sam smirked and shook his head. _There ya go,_ Dean silently triumphed,_ ya got him to smile._

"_Guess I might have to stick around and be a pain in the ass then,"_ Sam joked.

"_Thanks,"_ Dean suddenly added, surprising not just his brother, but himself.

"_Don't mention it."_ Sam glanced at him, then got into the car.

Dean stayed where he was, leaning, thinking.

_He seems okay. Maybe he wasn't baiting me to punch him back at the motel. Maybe I'm just reading into it. He didn't punch me back. He didn't punch me just now. If he wanted to fight me, he had two chances. He didn't act on either of them. But if he doesn't want to fight, than what the hell does he want?_ Dean stared at the spot just in front of the steps to the house, thinking it through. _He knows what's in you. He saw you with the crowbar, and you saw the look in his eyes after you killed that vamp. _Dean tensed._ God Sammy, please don't tell me that's what you want._ He dropped his eyes downward, and turned away, it just wasn't something he wanted to believe.

Inside the car Sam tried to collect himself. He had put on a smile, consoled his brother, and even felt a small amount of hope when Dean thanked him, but the moment he sat in the car, the voices rushed and consumed him, calling him on all the shit he had pulled in the last several hours, all the shit he shouldn't have pulled. Sam stared at the bandage on his left arm, and ran his fingers across it longingly. He couldn't describe it any other way, when Gordon had cut him, it felt good. He had decided not to cut, he had decided not to bait Dean into beating him, yet in some small way last night he had managed to cross the line with both demons. Neither had helped, the brevity of both the cut and punch had only left him more wanting, more tortured, more lost.

Dean pulled open the driver's side door and got in.

"So, back to the motel to pick up our stuff and then breakfast?" Dean suggested, food sounding more important than sleep.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam said, snapping back into conversation.

"Alright, let's go then." Dean stepped on the gas and headed the car down the long, dirt road, as Sam turned to the window, intentionally hiding his face from his brother. He gazed at himself in the side view mirror. He had no idea what he was going to do, other than simply let it get worse.

Fifteen minutes later Dean pulled into the motel parking lot. He brought the Impala to a halt in front of their room, shut the car off, and turned to his brother.

"You wanna check us out, I'll get our stuff?"

"Sure," Sam agreed. "Meet you back here." Both men got out of the car and went their designated ways. Sam heading off towards the office, as Dean unlocked and entered their room.

There wasn't much stuff to grab, they hadn't even slept there. Dean pulled Sam's bag from the dresser, retrieved his own from the floor, and threw them both onto one of the beds. He glanced the room for stray objects, then headed into the bathroom.

The light was on and the door was slightly ajar. It was odd, but as he stepped inside he realized this was the first time he'd been in it. Like the main room, he glanced around checking for their stuff. There seemed to be nothing. Then, as he began to walk out, he spotted something on the floor near the toilet.

Dean knelt and retrieved a small empty pill bottle. He stared at it for a moment, recognizing it as something from their medical supplies, then noticed the inside of the trash can. It was coated with a mess of chalky, partially dissolved pills. Dean glanced out of the room, contemplating. _He wouldn't. He just wouldn't._

Dean stood, tossed the bottle into the trash, and turned to leave. He had only made it one step when his eyes caught site of the sink. He froze momentarily as his first thought was that the fading red stains which streaked the white porcelain were blood, then realized the color was from the pills. Dean relaxed as it hit him, this was a good thing. The pills had obviously dissolved in the sink. Sam had probably just spilt them. _He didn't take them. _Dean convinced himself. _You're being an idiot, quit worrying about him so much. _

Dean continued to stare at the sink; at the bloodlike stains that ran into the wet drip of the leaking faucet; at how the image somehow seems eerily familiar. He shook it off, insisting it was nothing as he casually glanced up at the mirror.

The moment he looked fully into the mirror, Dean screamed and bolted away.

Dean stood in the corner of the small room, panting with fright, steering his eyes clear of the mirror. _What the fuck was that? That was… it was… _

Dean struggled to understand what he'd seen. When he'd looked into the mirror, the bathroom behind him had been a different bathroom, a larger, sterile, public style, bathroom, and the person who's face he had seen wasn't his own, but his brother's. Sam had stared back at him, clinging to the sink, a different sink, looking pained and desperate.

Dean ran one hand against his chest, and the other through his hair. He calmed himself somewhat, then stepped hesitantly back in front of the mirror. There was nothing there but his own reflection. _ What the fuck was that? _He questioned again. Dean took one last look in the trash can, then one last look in the mirror. He honestly wasn't sure which had frightened him more, the unexplained image he had seen in the mirror, or the harrowed look of despair in his brother's eyes. Dean shut off the light and left the room. He had no explanation for what he'd seen.

* * *

Okay - thanks everybody! Again - please let me know your thoughts on this. 

Really hope you liked it! I totally had fun writing it : )

Kate


	4. Chapter 4

Big thanks to all who reviewed.

With the alerts down I ended up not responding this time, sorry for that, but I just wasn't sure if my replies would just end up in some sort of fanfic abyss. But seriously- all of your reviews were greatly appreciated and again helped move the story forward!

Thanks again to melja for her consistent feedback on this story. Have a cup of caffeine on me girl!

Okay - so chapter 4:

Yet again - hooks up to episode 4 - 'Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things'. Again - I tried to make it clear where we are at all times - hopefully I actually did.

* * *

**Decisions in Blood**

**CH 4**

Sam had gotten back from checking them out of the motel roughly three minutes ago and had been leaning against the hood of the car, squinting his eyes to handle the early morning sunlight, ever since. He had no idea what was taking his brother so long. They had _what…_ a couple of bags and some maps? His decision was just about to switch from, 'give it another minute' to 'go check on his ass', when Dean walked out of the motel.

Dean crossed to the trunk of the car, popped it open, and threw in their bags. He slammed it shut, then made his way to the front passenger side of the car where he dropped a small med kit onto the hood just in front of Sam. Sam glanced at the little black zippered bag, not really knowing what to make of it, as Dean just stood there, awkwardly silent.

Dean still didn't understand what it was he had seen in the bathroom mirror. The only thing that was clear, was the severity of Sam's pain. As a result, Dean had resolved it was time to give his younger brother some of the attention he deserved.

"Um…" Dean finally began in an uneasy tone.

"What?" Sam questioned his brother's hesitancy. Dean looked away for a second, then turned back to face him.

"I never asked if you were okay," he finally got out in a point blank sort of tone. Sam just stared at him, completely baffled as to what he was talking about.

"Before," Dean elaborated, "when we were out here and you told me you'd been to the nest. I asked how many you killed, I asked where it was… I never asked if you were okay." Dean studied his brother's face, attempting to read the young man's thought process.

"You… could _see_ I was okay," Sam pointed out. Dean stepped closer and made a point of looking him in the eyes.

"That's not what I meant," he explained quietly. Dean watched the sudden shift in Sam's demeanor.

"Um…" Sam pressed and slid his hands against the front of his pants, searching for his pockets. He seemed to be holding it together, but Dean had him under tight surveillance, so the fact that Sam's bottom lip pulsed with a minor tremble didn't go unnoticed. Dean stepped closer, and Sam's breath quickened.

"I should have asked if you were okay, Sam." Dean went out of his way to make what he was saying perfectly clear. "None of that other stuff should have mattered."

Sam's eyes shifted anxiously, then seemed to settle on a spot that reflected an almost inward gaze. He said nothing.

"Well are you?"

"Huh?" Sam came back distracted, pulled from his thoughts.

"Are you okay?" Dean kept at him gently.

Sam forced his gaze just above his brother's eyes. Had he been looking in his brother's eyes, he might have noticed the extended concern, that Dean was evaluating, that he was worried about more than what he was verbalizing. Sam kept his gaze where it was.

"Yeah. I'm fine Dean," Sam stated firmly.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, then let it drop.

"Okay." Dean moved to the med case and unzipped it, then abruptly switched subjects. "Let me see your arm."

"What?" Sam questioned, defensively shifting away. "Why?"

"'Cause you need to re-bandage where Gordon cut you."

"Dean, it's fine… really," Sam insisted.

"Come on, Sam, give it," Dean persisted. "That rag you tied over it looks like it's gonna fall off."

Before Sam could react, Dean reached out and grabbed his arm. Sam's eyes went wide, then shifted fretfully to stare at the underside of his lower wrist. Dean's hand was clasped across his scars, and as his older brother pulled his arm close, Sam realized that at least for the moment, Dean was conveniently blocking the proof of what he had done to himself at the hospital.

Dean held Sam's arm steady, then reached forward with his other hand and tugged down the bandage. The moment it shifted to reveal the blood dried cut, Dean jolted away harshly.

He dropped Sam's arm and backed himself smack into the hood of the car. Shaking, he brought a hand to his eyes. He squeezed his temples hard between his finger tips and his thumb, then turned and braced himself up by firmly planting his other hand to the hood.

"Dean?" Sam stepped toward him, simultaneously pulling his sleeve down. "Hey… what is it, what's wrong?" Dean pulled his hand from his eyes and held it up indicating for Sam to stop, to give him a minute. Finally, he dropped his hand, and bringing it back to his face, scrubbed it over his mouth, then brushed it back up into his hair.

"Nothing," Dean said with a shaky exhale.

"Nothing?" Sam's eyes widened. "That wasn't nothing, Dean. You turned white, you totally freaked!" Dean didn't respond, he just stood there, holding the same position, shaking, thinking. Sam slowly and carefully approached him, then gently placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Dean…" he began, his tone nurturing. Dean turned.

"I'm okay, Sam," he stated unreliably. Sam hunched forward and glanced his brother over; he looked far from okay. His face was sickly pale, his eyes carried some sort of distant, haunted, vacancy, and apparently he now found it necessary to brace himself up with both hands, because he was leaning back against the hood, arms out stiff and shaking behind him.

"Dean… tell me what happened," Sam insisted.

"I… I'm just tired…" Dean defected.

"Dean…"

"No really," Dean looked his brother in the eyes briefly, planting a somewhat convincing explanation his direction. "We didn't sleep last night, and before that I drove the Impala for what… like ten hours straight?"

Sam listened, and although he didn't quite buy it, he also couldn't disagree.

"Do you wanna go back in the room?" He suggested. "Check back in and get some sleep?"

"No… no." Dean pushed himself fully off the car and stood on his own. "We should get food."

"Okay…" Sam agreed hesitantly. "Are you sure?"

"If you're good driving… I'll catch some sleep on the road." Sam stared at him pensively, attempting to read him, then seeing no other choice, gave in.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good to drive," he agreed.

Dean nodded, handed Sam the keys, then moved past towards the passenger door. Sam loomed protectively behind him, purposely waiting until Dean got himself into the car. As soon as Dean was settled, he grabbed the med kit from the hood, walked around, and got into the driver's seat. He pulled the door shut, then turned to his brother, needing to check on him one last time. Dean was already shifted towards the window, arms folded across his chest, eye shut, face tense.

"Dean…" he tried quietly. When he got no response, Sam turned away, shifted the seat a foot and a half back, and starting the car, pulled them out of the lot.

* * *

Why had he agreed to be bait? It was only going to tempt him. Sam shot her square in the forehead. _Nice shot, _he told himself. _Too bad it only pissed her off. Shit!_

Sam turned and took off running back towards the grave. She was right on him, and as he got closer, he realized he wasn't going to make it. Her hands dug into him, and the moment her weight hit his back, he lost his balance and slammed to the ground, his gun bouncing out in front of him. He tried to push himself up, but before he could get his palms to the dirt, she was lifting his head, grasping it with both hands, and had it cocked, ready for one quick neck breaking twist. There was no time for him to react, only time to think… _snap it._

Dean's bullet came swiftly, ripping her cold fingers from his skin. As his brother continued to fire unrelenting rounds until she fell back into her grave, Sam began to push himself up.

Without warning, they came for him.

They arrived from all sides: jumbled, overlapping whispers that brushed into his mind like wind, took route, and sprouted into quick consumption. Dark patches filled his head, swirling and haunting, single words taunting as they spiraled down, dragged down, scraping his windpipe raw, draining his air, crumbling his lungs to brittle ash. Sam clutched his chest and tried to breath, tried to make a sound as he watched his brother slide into the grave and lift the long, silver blade above his head. As Dean's blade came down, Sam's voices shot back up, potent and persuasive they ripped from his chest, dragged up his throat, and like trapped fire blowing out the windows of a car, shattered their meaning into his skull. Sam heard the scream inside his head resonate and fade, his mind voided, his arm bucked, completely consumed, he collapsed back to the ground.

Dean glared fiercely at his kill, exhaling heavily. She was pinned, she was through, she was where she belonged; where she never should have left. Dean shook slightly as he took in her pale skin, her stillness. She was no longer there, she was at peace. _Peace._ Dean knew what that word meant, but only by definition.

"Sam! A little help over here!" Dean called from the grave, ready to finish this. He turned and looked back over his shoulder, expecting to see Sam approaching, instead, his brother was lying in a heap on the ground. "Sammy?" He questioned breathily. Dean turned, planted his hands into the crumbed dirt which surrounded the grave, then hauled himself up and out. He moved quickly to his brother's side and knelt down. Sam was clearly unconscious, passed out face down in the dirt. Dean was thrown, he has seemed fine a minute ago, he had seen Sam starting to get up when he moved past him headed to the grave. Dean lifted him gently and rolled him onto his back, then stuck his fingers to his neck feeling for a pulse. It was racing, abnormally fast.

"Sam…" he said, shaking him. "Sammy… come on man." With no immediate response, his gut tightened. _What the hell happened to him? He didn't hit the ground that hard, he didn't seem hurt._ Dean scooped an arm behind his brother's upper back and lifted him from the dirt. He pulled Sam towards his chest, lifted his brother's head with his other hand, and lightly slapped the side of his face. "Sammy! Wake up!"

Slowly, Sam began to come to. He moaned breathily, as his head rolled and lolled in Dean's hand. Dean tried to steady him, as he continued to call his name. Sam shifted as light whimpers escaped with his breath. Suddenly, Sam's body tensed and turned, as he unexpectedly twisted himself further into his older brother's grasp. He pressed his forehead hard to Dean's chest, then reached up and clutched a fistful of fabric into his palm. Pulling hard on Dean's shirt, Sam, wept, whimpered, and wrought subconscious grief into his brother. Dean's eyes darkened, as he felt Sam's pain… felt it in a horribly familiar, internal way.

Dean buckled instantly and pulled Sam closer, wrapping his arms fully around his brother.

"Sammy, it's okay."

"No… no… NO!" Sam screamed and launched away from him, falling back onto the ground at a distance. Now awake, and completely disoriented, Sam surveyed his surroundings in a sheer panic. Dean watched him with a calculating eye, then approached him with apprehension. Sam swung an arm out, in warning for Dean to keep his distance, as he struggled to understand. "What happened?!" Sam shouted gruffly.

"I don't know."

"What happened?!"

"I don't know, Sam! I don't. You were getting up when I ran past, but when I looked back you were out. Just… out."

Sam slowly calmed, his eyes revealing turmoil somewhere deep beneath the shaky strength he was attempting to front. He turned his face from his brother, and started to stand.

"Hey, whoa- whoa- hold up," Dean protested, as he placed a firm hand on Sam's shoulder to keep him from standing. "Maybe you should take it easy." Shaking with exhaustion, Sam lowered himself back to the ground.

"I don't need to take it easy, Dean," he argued. "I'm fine."

"Okay, but… for whatever reason, you were just unconscious. You should rest a few minutes. I'll nail the coffin shut, then you can help me replace the dirt," Dean bargained. Sam sighed in frustration, then nodded and giving in, leaned back onto his elbows.

Dean didn't even hesitate. He pulled off his jacket, bunched it into a ball, and reached it behind Sam, placing it to the ground reminiscent of a pillow. Sam just sort of stared at him, very confused like.

"What? I can't do something nice?" Dean questioned.

"No," Sam retuned, still perplexed, "not really." Dean rolled his eyes then shoved his brother down onto the softness of his jacket.

"Shut your eyes, I'll get you when I need you." Dean stood and headed back towards the grave as Sam, giving into the situation, let his eyes shut.

Dean returned to the grave trying not to over think it, trying not to over think his brother's emotions, or his own. He had no idea why Sam had passed out, it didn't matter. What mattered, was the unreserved anguish he had expressed while still unconscious. Dean hammered his thoughts into the coffin with each nail. Ten minutes later he emerged from the grave and returned to his brother. Sam was totally out. It took one look to comprehend that his brother was waking no time soon.

"Don't need rest, my ass." Dean shook his head and glanced the graveyard. A cold breeze blew the grounds. Curling up under his shirt, it caught the back of his neck with a sharp prick, like a cold metal hook had suddenly pierced and jerked him. As the light wind traveled the yard, Dean allowed his eyes to follow the few dead leaves which tumbled trapped in its current. They rolled through the grass, skimmed across the dirt, then tumbled to a stop against a headstone. Dean tensed as he read its name. He stared for a moment, then glanced at his brother, then back at the headstone.

Dean slowly walked over. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and stared at the name imprinted in the granite: '_Mary Winchester'_. Dean's eyes slowly came to expose the weight he carried as he let himself feel.

"You're not here," he spoke directly, then recalled the breeze. "Well, not usually." Dean sighed. "It's not that I don't respect Sammy for… whatever it was he needed coming here… but to me… I don't need to stand here to talk to you." Dean stopped. His thoughts shifted, back to where they tended to drift naturally these days. "I shouldn't be talking to you… I should be with you. I should be _with_ you. But we've already had this conversation."

Dean looked to the ground in avoidance as he kicked his foot lightly into the grass. He quickly noticed a small tuff of earth which seemed recently turned up, he knelt and pulled at it. As he flopped it aside and dug his fingers into the moist earth, he felt the cold beaded chain curl between his knuckles. Dean clinched his hand into a fist and lifted, pulling his father's dog tags from the dirt.

"Son of a bitch," he gasped with a smile and a chill. Dean glanced to his brother, then to the headstone, then stood. He kicked the clump of grass back into place, and looked pointedly at his mother's grave. "You knew… knew I'd been searching for these for weeks." Dean lifted the chain over his head, and tucked the tags under his shirt. The cold metal slid down his chest, and settle to rest. As the tags adjusted to the temperature of his skin, another breeze curled around him; this time it was warm.

* * *

"_I was dead, and I should have stayed dead." _Dean sat on the edge of the hood, keeping his tear stained eyes from his brother. _"You wanted to know how I was feeling. Well that's it. So tell me, what could you possibly say to make that alright?" _

Sam held his gaze as Dean finally turned to look at him. His brother was hurting. He was so close, inches from him, yet Sam still couldn't reach him. Dean had stopped the car, chosen this moment to pull over on the side of the road because he finally needed to speak, and now that he had finally admitted what he was feeling, _Sam_ couldn't speak.

Sam turned away. It wasn't that the words wouldn't come, plenty came, an overload of thought and response entered his head, but as Sam finally found his voice, only one phrase exited his mouth.

"I'm sorry," Sam mumble softly.

"What?" Dean questioned, as his anger crept back into play. "You're sorry? Sorry for_ what,_ Sam? Sorry I finally spoke to you, or sorry I'm alive?"

"Dean…" Sam began, exhausted by his brother's relentless attitude, "you're just… you're right… okay? I don't know what to say to you, but that's because I never know what to say to you anymore without being scared shitless it's just gonna set you off."

"Really? 'Cause it seems to me you've had plenty to say on this subject up until now." Dean stopped himself, realizing he needed to calm down. "Just forget it, Sam," Dean attempted to bring the conversation to an abrupt halt, as he turned and started to walk.

"I only wanted to reach you, Dean," Sam spoke honestly. "To let you know you're not alone in this. No matter what happened in that hospital."

"No matter what happened?" Dean turned and stepped forward, putting himself directly in Sam's face. "Sam, Dad died! And every bit of thinking I've done since makes it clear that he died trading his life for mine! Now you can say that's not what happened, but _you're_ the one who's been telling me I need to deal with this, and_ this… this _is what happened!"

"You don't…"

"I do, Sam! Dad was fine, he was healthy, and he let himself die to save me! To bring me back from the dead! You don't think there's something wrong in that? You don't think…"

"In sacrificing your own life to try and save someone you love?" Sam yelled. "No Dean! No! I don't think… I know! I _know _Dad made the right decision!"

"Maybe," Dean countered staring at him coldly, "maybe Dad did make the right decision… but Sam… look at me. It wasn't _his_ decision to make." Dean forced his feelings into his brother's eyes, then walked away.

Sam turned away and attempted to keep his temper and emotions calm as Dean walked to the back side of the car, leaned against the trunk, and dropped his head into his hand.

Sam heard what his brother had said, he just didn't agree. He was sure of what his father had done, that he had sacrificed his own life for Dean's; and for the first time Sam could remember, he agreed with his father's way of thinking. In fact, he couldn't disagree, because Sam had made the exact same decision himself.

Both men stood on opposite sides of the car: Dean seated against the trunk, Sam against the hood, each burying their eyes in their hands, dealing with their grief alone.

* * *

Thanks everyone. If you're moved to… let me know what you're feelin'. 

Kate


	5. Chapter 5

Yet another chapter - with more thanks to all who reviewed - and more special thanks to Melja for all her feedback... and coffee drinking!

Same deal as last time - this chapter hooks up to 'Simon Said'.

Again, it skips around, but in theory you should be able to follow it : ) best of luck!

* * *

**Decisions In Blood**

**Ch 5**

Dean sat on the trunk of his car. He didn't want it to go that way. He didn't want to lose his temper. He didn't want to fight. It was too late for wants. Dean sighed heavily and brushed the tears from his eyes. He pressed his hands to the car, and turned to confirm that his brother was still in the same spot, sitting against the hood, right where he had left him. Dean turned away.

Dean had talked, he had tested his brother, and Sam had walked confirmed.

_In sacrificing your own life… _Dean heard Sam's words as clearly as his own thoughts. _I don't think… I know!_

"Damn it, Sammy," he whispered, then pushed himself off the car and walked to the drivers door.

Dean kept an eye on his brother as he got into the car. He plunked hard into the seat, shoved the keys back into the ignition, then leaning forward, he folded his arms across the wheel, and buried his head into them. Dean let himself feel his exhaustion, both mental and physical, then, pushing it away, he reached an arm down and started the car. Dean slowly lifted his head from the wheel. He glimpsed the area directly before him, Sam was no longer in front of the car. Dean kept his head mostly down as he waited for the sound of the passenger door; the sound never came. He sat fully up and turned to his right. There was no sign of Sam. Slightly thrown, he scanned to his left, then behind the car… Sam was simply gone.

Dean shut the car off as he continued to scan the area. He pushed open the door and stepped back outside, his investigating face on. It was perfectly quiet, perfectly still. His head hadn't been down that long; it would have taken time for Sam to get to the trees, to get anywhere out of site. Dean's gut wrenched. He stepped forward, towards where Sam had been, and as he rounded the corner of the car, he located his brother. Dean's eyes twitched with concern as he moved forward and dropped to his knees.

Sam was on the ground, on his side, again… unconscious. From what Dean could tell, it looked as if Sam had just passed out and slid off the front of the car. Dean hesitated before moving him. Sam was lying heavily on top of his right arm, which was bent at a hell of an awkward angle. Dean lifted Sam off his arm, pulled it clear, then returned his heavy body to the ground, lying him on his back.

Dean gently took Sam's right arm up into his hands. He felt along the wrist for a break, as Sam moaned and shifted about restlessly in response to the touch.

"Well, if that zombie bitch didn't break it, your freakish body weight just did," Dean quipped to himself.

Becoming briefly engulfed in his brother's progressive vulnerability, Dean tried to calculate exactly what had caused Sam to passed out. He turned his arm over, pressed his thumb to his brother's wrist, and made note of the again abnormally fast heart rate. Dean sat back onto his heels, thinking. He glanced down at his brother's right arm, placed it gently to the ground, then reached for Sam's left arm. As his hand came in contact with it, Sam began moaning and panting in a rapid, yet unconscious panic. Before Dean could react, Sam bolted awake and sat up, quickly shifting himself away.

Dean was so startled at the abrupt waking, that he fell back onto the gravel with a hard bump as his ass met the ground.

Sam glanced around attempting to orient himself. Almost immediately, he seemed to understand what had happened.

Dean cautiously started to move toward him, but Sam shot a hand out in warning, as he backed himself hard against the grill of the Impala. Dean watched his younger brother with vigilance. Sam dropped his face into his left hand and held it there, slowly calming. Once he had regrouped, he darted Dean a brief look which solidified his intent to be left alone, then broke away. Sam shifted to his knees, pushed himself up, and stumbled weakly, yet swiftly to the passenger seat.

Dean stayed just as he was, staring vacantly at the grill of the car. _I only wanted to reach you. I… I came to help you… _ The passenger door slammed shut, severing Dean from his thoughts with a jolt.

* * *

Dean paid for the gas, then went around back to search for his brother. The bathroom door was slightly ajar, so he never even hesitated.

"_Sam, come on, zip it up…"_ Dean pushed the door open. _"Let's hit the…" _Dean caught site of his brother. _"…road." _

Sam was leaning against the sink, water dripping from his face, his expression pained and almost sickly.

"_What?" _Dean questioned, slightly caught off guard by the abrupt change in his brother's demeanor.

Sam stared vacantly, seemingly unaware of his brother's presence. He squinted, as if in reaction to a sharp pain, then slowly dropped to the floor.

"Sam!" Dean moved fast and grabbed him by the shoulders, keeping his brother up as Sam swayed in a disoriented despondence, one hand pinching at his eyes. "Sam, what's going on?" Dean was positive his brother was about to pass out, to hit the floor, same as the graveyard, same as on the road, then Sam shook it off.

"Ahh…" Sam gasped. "Dean… a man… he's gonna shoot someone, then himself." Sam blurted a breathy explanation as he began to refocus on where he was.

"A vision?" Dean question, incredulously. He was actually relieved. He didn't like Sam's visions, especially the harsh toll they took on his brother both physically and mentally, but at least he understood what they were… sort of.

Sam grabbed hold of Dean and pushed his typical look of determined savior at him.

"We need to leave, Dean. We need to get to him," Sam insisted as he tried to stand.

"Wait Sam, wait!" Dean kept him to the floor. "Do you even know where this guy is? Tell me exactly what you saw."

"We'll figure it out in the car," Sam gripped his brother's arms firmly and empowered empathy via his eyes. "Dean, get me out of here," he stated bluntly.

Dean absorbed what he was meant to and glanced their surroundings. He registering the small bathroom, the white porcelain sink; he needed his brother out of this space; _he_ needed out of this space. Dean stood and pulled his brother to his feet. As Sam turned and got himself through the door, Dean followed, one hand protectively against Sam's back, holding their connection.

* * *

Dean slowly let his hand drop from his brother's back, hoping the brief contact had provided Sam with some sort of comfort. It hadn't.

"_I kept him out of the gun store," _Sam explained, raw emotion coating his voice as he sat on the sidewalk._ "I thought he was okay. I thought he was past it, at least… I should have stayed with him."_

Dean took in his younger brother's self accusations. This was not Sam's fault, but Dean could hear it in his brother's voice, as far as Sam was concerned, he may as well have pushed the guy in front of that bus.

"Come on, Sam," he instructed gently. "Let's go… okay?" Sam didn't respond, but instead held his vacant gaze towards the doctor's body. Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sammy…" Dean pulled his brother from the ground purely by means of his tone. Once up, he took Sam by the arm and steered him past the body, down the side of the building, and onto a deserted backstreet. As Dean stopped, Sam glanced around slightly lost, numbly waiting for his older brother to lead the way. Dean came in front of him, and lightly pushed him up against the back wall of the building. Sam stared past his brother, to somewhere at the end of the street, fully conscious of where this was going.

"Sam, look at me." Sam continued to stare down the street. "Look at me, Sam," Dean repeated, still not inducing the response he wanted. "This wasn't your fault. Are you listening to me?" Dean looked away for a moment, frustrated, then back to his brother. "Sam…" Dean continued to watch the blame progress in his brother's eyes. "Sammy…"

Dean reached up, grabbed Sam's chin, then turned and held him so they were face to face. Although this should have achieved eye contact, it didn't, as Sam kept his eyes anywhere but on his brother.

"Sam, I know you feel responsible, but you did what you could." Sam shook his head, fully disagreeing. "This is _not_ your fault," he stated again firmly. Sam stopped shaking his head, and stood silent, containing his tears to a simple glaze of the eyes. He bit his bottom lip, and pushed his breath hard out his nose.

"I'm fine Dean," Sam stated gruffly. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Are you? 'Cause I don't think you are."

"Drop it. Okay? Just let it go," Sam said simply.

"I will, if you will," Dean bargained harshly. Sam laughed slightly and shook his head. He brushed at his eyes then looked fully at his brother.

"We should find your car." Sam stared him down, making it clear he was done on this topic.

"Yeah…" Dean gave in. "Fine." Sam darted past him, and took off at a quick pace down the street.

_Great… fucking great._ Dean thought. _Monkey see, monkey do. __He's mimicking your behavior, man. Holding it all in and keeping the one person trying to get to him at bay._ Dean started to walk, intent on catching up to his brother before he lost site of him. As he moved, he scratched a hand through his hair, and sighed in disgust. _He's mimicking you… and same as you, it's killing him._

* * *

Dean stood on the bridge and tried to convince his brother that talk induced via mind control was the same thing as babbling after being drugged: it flat out didn't count. His argument sounded good to him, and so he was sticking with it, whether Sam liked it or not. Besides…

"_Doesn't matter, look, we just gotta keep doing what we're doing, find that evil son of a bitch, and kill it,"_ Dean explained, as if it were as simple as picking up items on a grocery list. Conveniently, Dean's phone began to ring, and he shifted his attention away from his brother.

"_Yeah…"_ Sam stared at him, thrown by his brother's simplification of their lifelong battle. "_I guess."_

As Dean answered his phone, Sam opened the car door and got inside. What was his brother talking about? How could Dean belittle his concern so easily, so frequently? Things were changing, fast, and if they weren't prepared for whatever the Demon had in store, Sam was positive they'd be pretty much screwed. But fine, whatever, if Dean wasn't going to deal with it, if Dean wasn't going to face facts, _he would_.

Dean got into the car and started it up.

"That was Ellen, she wants us to stop by the Roadhouse."

"She say why?" Sam questioned.

"No."

"And you didn't ask?" He questioned again, sort of surprised.

"No, I didn't. It's not like we have plans." Sam shrugged in response. "Besides, drinks and lodging are on her, and right now, that sounds good to me."

"Okay," Sam agreed, with another shrug. Dean glanced at him and stepped on the gas. _Just keep his mind off this shit, and he'll be okay._ Dean convinced himself as he snuck another quick look at his brother. _Get him to the Roadhouse, get a couple of drinks in him, and see if you can't get him to relax a little, to forget about all this shit he's neck deep in. _

Ten minutes time allowed Sam an opportunity to contemplate, and Dean the opportunity to catch that the Impala was low on gas. He pulled her into a station, and jumped out to fill her up. At around a quarter of a tank, Sam got out of the car, and headed away.

"Where you goin'?" Dean asked quickly. Sam turned slowly, hands in pockets, eyes desolate and depressed.

"Bathroom," he said simply, then turned and walked away.

Dean tapped his fist on the gas pump, impatiently urging it to go faster. He hadn't said anything, but something was wrong, something was brewing, and the anxiety crept up into Dean so fast that he popped the pump out at half a tank, and rushed himself after his brother.

Dean again came to a closed men's room door. This scenario was becoming suggestively repetitive. He braced himself against the cold chill that traveled his shoulders, and pushed into the room unannounced.

Dean's breath quickened to match his brother's.

Sam stood with his back pressed into the corner of the small, filthy walled, room. His face was wet, and he held his head in one hand, as his other hand clutched at his chest seemingly trying to push air into it.

Dean wanted it to be another vision, but that was bullshit; he knew this was no vision. This was something else that had its ominous grip on his brother, the same thing that had kept him to the ground at the graveyard, the same thing that had slammed him to the gravel by the car. Dean stood frozen, unsure how to approach, then Sam looked up.

Dean thought that the glance he would receive from Sam when he discovered the intrusion would be one of contempt, one that would sharply will his older brother from the room. On the contrary, the look Dean received was one of desperation, one that snapped Dean from his fixed spot on the floor and pulled him forward, granting him permission to fill the role of big brother he was slowly regaining permission to play.

Dean grabbed Sam by the arms and helped to hold him up. Sam was barely breathing, taking in virtually no air, and in result, he trashed his upper body hard against the wall, and gripped his fingers tight and digging into Dean's jacket, pulling, begging for air.

"Sammy… listen to me… you have to calm down!" Dean removed a hand from Sam's arm and once again grasped him by the face. He stared him down, knowing the only thing which could possible get air into his brother's lungs would be Sam's own self control over his panic. "Sam, calm down… and just let yourself _breath_."

Sam shook his head in contest, he knew he was already too far gone. Sam's eyes flickered shut as his body relaxed and he began to slide down the wall.

"Sam!" Dean tried to hold him up, but it was pointless, so he slowly moved his hands with the weight until his brother was sitting, back still to the wall, head flopped, calm and unconscious.

Dean took in the silence of the room. All he could hear was his own panicked breathing. He moved his face to his brother's, and relaxed only slightly when he felt Sam's warm, repetitive breath against his cheek. Dean sighed away his fear and crouched to the floor in front of his brother.

If the situation followed pattern, Sam would be waking up in a couple of minutes, breath under control, emotions flaring. Dean needed to be ready; Dean didn't think he could _ever_ be ready.

_What the hell are you gonna do with him?_ He panicked. _He won't talk to you; you won't talk to him. You need to confront him. You need to confront him on everything._

Dean's eyes fell to Sam's lower left arm. He sniffed the tears into the back of his throat, and glancing his appropriately haunting setting, lifted Sam's arm into his hands. He swallowed hard and shoved the sleeve of Sam's jacket and shirt up to his elbow, then turned his arm over to reveal Sam's wrist. Dean shuttered as his eyes hit the scars. He sucked his breath in and sealed his mouth shut with tight, tense, lips. He had known for weeks, but had never been able to confirm, not with physical proof, not until now.

Dean let himself cry as he brushed his thumb over the four lines of raised skin. It was true, everything he had remembered, everything he had tried not to remember.

All he had wanted that morning was to re-bandage Sam's cut. He had stood by the car, asked Sam for his arm, explained that where Gordon had sliced him needed better bandaging, and then unwittingly pulled the current bandage away:

The look, the knife, the cut, the mirror, the sink, the floor, the blood, the lock, the screaming with no response, the run to his father, and then finally, help.

Help, except Sam had been standing next to him begging, begging to stay…

_Dead_.

Dean brushed the tears away and sucked it up, he needed to look fine, composed when his brother woke in the next couple of minutes. He would need to talk to him, to confront him, and not only on the hospital, but the pills, and the punch.

_I can't… I can't._ Dean pressed the palm of his hand furiously into his head as he freaked. _He's not gonna listen to you. He doesn't want you anymore. He did… he came to you that fucking day in the junkyard, but you couldn't, could you? You couldn't just help him… talk to him. And now…_

_No! Why? _Dean questioned his brother._ Why the hell did he do it? Take that kind of fucking risk? Not just to save me. He's hurting, and hurting himself, and I can't… I can't help him… I can't ask him. He'll only push me further away. You need to move slowly, you need to move cautiously. He's skittish and he'll bolt. _

_Damn you Dean! _He turned on himself._ Cut the shit! You know what this is about! You're scared, and you're weak, and you fucking bastard, you still can't give him what he needs! You god damn get your act together so you can give him what he needs…_

"Fuck," Dean cut the word at himself with an inflicting bite.

Dean despised himself for running from it. He couldn't. He couldn't take the path which lay so clearly before him. Dean sunk into himself and clutched at his scalp. When his brother woke, he would not be confronting him.

* * *

Dean looked into his empty rock glass, thanked it for diluting his problems, and let his thoughts prick to smaller issues which had more recently pressed his mind. Dean recalled the look in Ellen's eyes, the glance she had shot him as Sam spilled his guts not just about the other children, but about himself.

_Jo honey, better break out the whisky instead… _

That was Ellen's response. Although he had to admit, it was a good one, but it would only solve their problems for the night.

Dean reached again for the bottle of Jack. As his fingers loosely grasped its neck, the bottle was pulled away and replaced behind the counter.

"Dean," Ellen gave him a stern look. "Lord knows you boys needed the break, but now you've had it. Best get your brother and yourself to bed." Dean stared at her, a mix of irritation and rebellion holding him steady.

"I'm fine where I am," he replied.

"Yeah, well… your brother's not." Ellen took Dean's empty glass out of his craving hand. "And the bar… it's closed." Dean sighed and gave in, she was a fucking hard ass to the end, and he was beginning to think that whatever falling out she and his father might have had, was not all down to _John's_ stubbornness.

Dean slid his ass from the stool, and grabbed hold of the bar as his unsteady feet hit the floor. He puffed out a deep breath, then turned.

"Dean…" Ellen's voice came again. He shifted himself groggily back to the bar to find Ellen sliding a key across the dark wood. "Outback… the room with the beds is occupied, but there's another one with a couple of cots. Sleep there." Dean picked up the key and focused on her long enough to almost like her.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," she said with a slight smile, then turned and continued to close down the bar.

Dean steadied himself. He wasn't sure if he was more drunk than tired, or tired than drunk, but the shift back and forth between the two seemed to be working for the moment, so he went with it. Dean had been sitting on that stool for at least two out of the four hours they had been drinking and really wasn't sure when the last time he had turned around was. He scanned the tables and chairs for his brother. Things had been calm between them after his brother had woken up in the small gas station bathroom. Dean had made sure Sam was okay, and had gotten him to the car. He had kept it simple, and Sam seemed grateful for that. Now Dean had a different situation, he needed to find Sam, and well… he was drunk. Since he could only focus a few feet in front of himself, Dean moved towards the first figure he saw.

Ash was sitting on the floor, his back against a game machine, one hand hugging the neck of a warm bottle, the other hand held out in front of his face, fingers waving around mystically as if he were about to perform a magic trick. Dean just stared at him blankly.

"My fingers never leave my hand…" Ash pointed out in a scholarly tone.

"Nope… not from where I stand." Dean blinked and rubbed his eyes. "You seen Sam?"

"Many a time my mullet-less friend… many a time…."

"Do you see him now?"

"Back corner table… I tied his sleeves to the center post after the bastard beat me at darts seven games in a row."

"Thanks." Dean shuffled over, and sure enough, there was Sam, passed out face down on the small circular table, arms pulled under it, the ends of his sleeves knotted together around the center post of the table. Dean smirked and shook his head feeling slightly empty at the disappointment he hadn't been the one responsible. _Maybe Ash** is** brilliant._ Dean strolled up to the table and spoke loudly.

"Sammy!" Sam stirred slightly at the sound of his name. "Sammy… what you doing all the way back here in the corner?"

"Nobody puts Baby in a corner!" Sam blurted almost incoherently.

"Yeah, okay Jennifer Grey… you've had enough. Come on. Up! Up!" Sam squirmed slightly, then jolted sort of awake. He abruptly sat up, but the way his arms were tied quickly jerked him back hard into the table with a slam! "Ouch…." Dean squinted. "That _had_ to hurt." Big brother knelt beneath the table and untied Sam's sleeves. "Okay Sammy… you're good now. You can get up."

"No… no get up…" Sam mumbled. "Table_ needs_ me…"

"I'm sure the table would _love_ to take you home for the night, but I got dibs." Dean reached down and pulled Sam to his feet, he strung Sam's left arm over his shoulders, and started the two of them moving. Sam followed the motion, his eyes bouncing open often enough to relay a flipbook visual of Ash, who was now exploring the wonder of waving both hands in front of his face.

"Look Dean, his fingers never leave his hands…" Sam shared as he let his weight drag.

"Right… I know."

"Never…"

"Ya-huh. Keep movin'." Dean kept them going through the bar, out the back, and to the room Ellen had designated. He fumbled the key into the lock, and pushed open the door. It was a small room, the better part of it designated for storage, but sure enough, two cots lined with blankets and pillows were set side by side in its center. Dean maneuvered Sam to the one closest to the door. He sat him down, then knelt and took off his kid brother's shoes and jacket while Sam's torso seemed to hover in an upright position.

"Why are you undressing me?" Sam questioned with his eyes closed.

"'Cause it's easier than undressing myself," Dean responded honestly.

"You weren't serious about having dibs on me over the table, were you?" Sam joked from his drunken stupor. Dean smirked, and shook his head.

"Shut up and lie down," Dean said, as he pushed his brother back onto the cot.

"I knew it… you _are_ gonna take advantage of me," Sam persistent. Dean ignored him except for a small, unbalancing, roll of his eyes, then Sam whispered… "Be gentle."

"Sam!" Dean freaked, as his brother burst out giggling.

"Dude, you're such a homophobe."

"Homophobe? Try… incest-a-phobe!" Dean blurted in an incoherent panic.

"That's not a word," Sam argued, a slight giggle coating his voice.

"Well it is NOW! I'm _making_ it a word!"

"Whatever…" Sam said, settling in.

"Yeah… whatever…" Dean pulled the blanket up over his brother, landing his hands on Sam's shoulders. "Shut your eyes and get some sleep."

"Are my eyes open?" Sam questioned. Dean leaned up over him to check.

"No… sorry… I meant shut your _mouth_ and get some sleep."

"Oh…" Sam said in recognition. Dean scrubbed a hand across his face trying to wake up a little, as he pushed himself up with the other. "Dean?" Sam questioned quietly. Dean looked back down at his brother, who was now gazing up at him through the dark, all remnants of the giggles gone.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

"I um…" Sam began hesitantly as he too tried to keep awake. "I'm sorry… about Ellen… I mean, about telling Ellen… about me." Dean held his somewhat woozy eye contact with his brother and let him speak. "I know you weren't exactly happy I did that." Sam could tell his brother wasn't about to respond so he continued. "I… it felt good though… ya know? To tell someone… to just be honest about it." Dean glanced away as his features tensed with worry, then turned back and nodded, attempting to pretend he understood. Sam didn't buy into it, he knew his brother was concerned. Sam's eyes dropped shut, but he shook his current state away and fought to keep talking. "You're worried aren't you? Worried another hunter is gonna peg me as part of the problem… as _supernatural_… and come after me." Sam opened his eyes, revealing all his cards.

Dean was so drunk and tired he wasn't sure how he was still standing, or hearing for that matter, but if anything was enough to sober him up, it was the evident overload of emotion in Sam's eyes.

"Nobody's coming after you, Sam." Dean noted the lack of change in his brother's eyes… Sam needed more. "And I'm not mad at you," he added. As soon as Dean's words entered Sam's head he seemed to calm. He nodded loosely, and within moments his eyes shut as he slipped into full alcoholic oblivion.

Dean stared at him for a moment, attempting to contain what he was feeling. _It's just the alcohol,_ he told himself. _It's just the alcohol._ Dean rubbed the back of his neck and stumbled around Sam to the other cot. He kept himself standing, yet swaying, as he looked from his cot, to his brother, to the door.

Dean grunted as he awkwardly reached down and picked up the long cot complete with blankets and falling pillow. He stumbled it around Sam, banging into everything near his path, then dropped it clumsily between his brother and the door. As the cot came to the floor, so did Dean. His time of standing for the night was at an end, so he shifted to his hands and knees and crawled back for his pillow. He threw it to the cot, then went to Sam. He reached under Sam's blanket and stripped his brother of two weapons, a knife and a gun. He crawled groggily back to his own cot, arranged the knife under his pillow, then pulled a second gun from his jacket and laid both guns out on the floor in perfect reaching distance. He pulled his jacket off, and tossed it on a nearby box, then drunkenly double checked the gun he planned to keep on his body. When he was sure it was loaded and dangerous, he laid back onto his pillow, dragged his legs up off of the floor, and pulled the blanket over himself.

Dean reached one hand under his head, under his pillow, and grasped it around the handle of the knife, then exhaled long and slow knowing he couldn't keep his eyes open more than another half minute. He rolled his head against the pillow, glanced at his brother, then let his drunkenness seriously get the better of him.

"Aw _hell…_" Dean pulled Sam's arm out from under the blanket and draped it across his own chest. He gripped the knife tightly in one fist, and Sam's hand tightly in his other, then turned his head to face the door, and let himself fall mostly asleep.

* * *

Thanks for reading! If you're inclined to - hit the little button and let me know your thoughts… remember the good old days of the angst-o-meter? Damn that seems long ago!

Thanks,  
Kate


	6. Chapter 6

Hey - so this is going up a little later than usual. I had a hell of a head cold and my brain has been usless for over a week. It's only falling back into wack recently, hence the delay.

As usual - I want to extend my thanks to everyone who has been reading and posting reviews! And as always… to Melja : )

Now here's some hook up to 'No Exit':

* * *

**Decisions In Blood**

**Ch 6**

Although his eyes were shut, Dean could see the orange glow of sunlight as it warmed against his lids. He didn't think the small room they had gone to sleep in behind the Roadhouse even had windows, he hadn't seen any last night, but then again, he hadn't seen much of anything last night. Dean let himself wake slowly. He came to sense his surroundings, and found he was lying in the exact position he had remembered going to sleep in. He loosened his grip on the knife. If anything foreboding were to happen at this point, the weapon would do him no good, as his entire arm felt the harsh infliction of tingly blood loss. It would be a bit before that limb would function properly.

Dean took a deep breath and rolled his head back towards his brother, his first instinct being to check on his sibling's safety. Dean opened his mouth into a wide yawn as he stretched open his eyes. _Oh shit._

Sam was completely awake, staring at him with an inquisitive smirk. He was lying on his side: one arm propping him up, the other arm… _Oh God! _

Dean glanced down at his own hand to quite unfortunately find it right where he had left it. Dean jerked his hand out of Sam's hand and brought it up onto his face.

"What the _hell_ are you smirking at?" Dean challenged without hesitation. Sam pursed his lips and brought his arm back to his own cot.

"Dean, I don't remember much about last night, but I remember the part where you said nobody was gonna come after me. I don't need you to protect me," Sam concluded.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean squirmed as he pulled his flaccid forearm from under his pillow and began beating it back to life with his other hand. Sam twisted his head incredulous.

"Dean… you _moved_ your cot!" Sam pointed out. Dean glanced around, all fake confused like.

"I don't know how I got here."

"And there's not one, but _two_ guns laid out on the floor next to you," Sam continued accusingly.

"I thought those were slippers," Dean insisted, leaning over the side of the cot to glance at them again. Dean continued to rouse his floppy arm, as Sam pushed himself fully up and finally spoke of what was being eagerly avoided.

"You were holding my hand."

Dean sat up, and cradling his numb arm in his functioning one, turned to his brother ready to put this at an end.

"Oh no you don't! The hand thing was totally you!" Dean lied. "This is my dance space," he said indicating his own cot, "and that's your dance space," he continued indicated Sam's cot. "_Your _arm was in _my_ dance space! I think it's clear Baby is the one at fault here, not Johnny!" He finished, indicating himself as Johnny. Sam's eyes went wide as his jaw dropped open.

"Did you just reference 'Dirty Dancing'?" Sam accused, in a dumbfounded tone. Dean's eyes twitched with resentment. He stood and threw his working arm up in exasperation.

"Don't get on me for 'Dirty Dancing' dude, you're **_so_** the one who started that!" Dean spat as he marched from the room.

"What?!" Sam questioned in total bafflement, but it was too late, Dean was long gone. Sam scratched a hand through his hair attempting to understand his brother's ranting, then broke down into a slight but definite smile. _He was worried about me. _Sam let the idea feel good for a total of ten seconds, then the feeling dropped away. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers as the pain spilt across his head. _God forbid he just come out and say it. _

Dean had left the room, walked to the back of the building, leaned himself against the wall, and slid down to the ground. He was sober, sober in the respect that the alcohol had left his system, sobered by the clear-headed sting of re-grasping every painful thought he had allowed himself to suppress for the past twelve hours. Dean pressed a palm to his head, then let go and intentionally banged his head back into the wooden wall. He needed to do something, he needed to pull himself together and confront his brother. There was enough bad shit out there with its eyes and plans set on Sam, things that wanted his kid brother dead, or just plain wanted him. _How the hell am I suppose to protect him from this shit if I can't even fucking protect him from himself?_ Dean banged his head hard into the wall again.

Inside the room, Sam sat on his cot, angrily eyeing his surroundings for whatever the hell unexplained banging was making his headache worse. Sam threw himself back onto the cot. He plugged his fingers into his ears, and squinted his eyes shut, as he waited for the pain to pass, and for the banging to stop.

* * *

Sam stood inside the walls of the old Philadelphia apartment building, holding a flashlight out in one hand, and his phone up to his ear with the other. 

"I'm almost done with the first floor, I just need to check the southeast wall," he updated the duo on the other end. Without really waiting for a response, he hung up and shoved his phone into his back pocket.

Sam continued to work his way along the inside of the wall, there really wasn't much left to go, and his gut was already telling him there was nothing to find. He continued anyway, thankful for the time alone, thankful for the time away from his brother. Dean had been keeping a watchful eye on him, and it was beginning to get on his nerves. The fact that Little Miss Nancy Drew had decided to tag along on their hunt wasn't exactly an ideal situation, but it had allowed Sam the ability to make himself obsolete, to disappear literally into the walls and out of site from everyone.

Ever since Sam had woken up on the floor of the gas station bathroom two days earlier, things with Dean had been different. He had snapped fully out of his 'deal with your shit yourself and leave me out of it' attitude, and shifted full force into the more familiar role of protective big brother watching over from afar. This meant no straight forward conversation on the subject, but instead, consistent concerned glances in Sam's direction when Dean thought his younger brother wasn't paying attention. Sam _was_ paying attention, he was _always_ paying attention, and keeping aware of Dean's relentless unspoken concern for him was becoming exhausting.

Sam reached the end of the wall. There was a little more to go, but the space was way too tight for him to fit. He reached his arm in with the flashlight and moved it around, checking and finding, as suspected… nothing. Sam pulled his arm back, and shut off the light. He stood in the dark, in the wall, listening to his breath, trying to remember something, anything of the times he had passed out. He remembered very little from all three, only the feeling of an overwhelming panic, and then waking to his brother's concerned glare. Sam hated that glare.

It didn't convey the sort of brotherly concern Sam wanted or needed, the: 'I want to be there for you, and help you through this', type of concern. This was typical Dean concern. Dean's look plainly stated: 'there's something wrong with Sam, I need to protect him'. Sam didn't need protection, he needed his brother, plain and simple.

Sam felt his breath start to quicken, felt it pull up his throat in a raspy, uncontrolled manner. He rolled his head back against the wall and brought a hand to his chest suddenly terrified by the familiar feeling panic. Sam had no idea how to fight it, he just knew he wasn't about to let it take him down again. He didn't care how, but he wasn't going to wake up, after being found unconscious inside a wall, with his brother's dark concern bearing down on him.

"No… no." Sam shook his head in dispute, then dropped his flashlight and ran, blindly. He held his hands out against the confined space of the brick walls and ran through the dark, fast and hard, hitting the turns, letting his rapid breath convert from panic, to physical exertion. As he caught the final stretch he pulled his fingers from the roughness of the bricks and broke into a sprint. He could see the box of light at the end, the box of light he had created simply by removing the vent which had rested snug in the lower part of the wall. It had been his entrance, and now it would be his salvation.

With each step Sam pulled focus away from his thoughts, harsh and crippling, and pushed into his movement. He was almost there, almost at the light. He would need to drop, arms in front, grasp to the top of the hole, then flip and pull through with back to the floor. He didn't remember executing the move, only planning it, but he was out, kneeling in the hallway, shoving the vent back into place. Sam stood and set off into another run, moving now through the halls with no idea where he was headed. He picked up his pace, turned a corner, and BAM! Sam collided smack into his brother.

"_Woah!" _Sam reacted with a startled turn.

"_He's got Jo!" _Dean blurted, without missing a beat.

"_What? How'd that happen?" _Sam asked automatically falling into step behind his brother.

"_I wasn't with her. I left her alone. Damn it!"_

"_Okay, hey look. We'll find her, alright?" _Sam moved his mind swiftly and thankfully to the new situation.

"_Where?" _ Dean questioned.

"_Inside the walls."_

"_We've been inside the walls all night! None of the other girls are there, she won't be either!" _Dean picked up his pace as he rushed down the hallway back towards the apartment. Sam followed behind, closing the memory of his panic off in some dark, distant space of his brain, similar to the way he had replaced and secured the vent, trapping the threatening solitude which had tracked him down between the walls.

* * *

Dean had agreed, it was better to lose whatever time it would take to pick up a metal detector, in exchange for the time it would save not having to roam around outside the apartment building, blindly searching for an opening to the sewer. That was, until they got stuck in traffic. 

"Fuck!" Dean cursed as he punched the steering wheel. "That's it!" Sam glanced at his brother, not really sure what 'that's it' meant.

Dean pulled the Impala out of the line of cars, and into the first spot he could find. Sam eyed his sibling as he questioned the older hunter's logic, and patience.

"Dean, we're like a mile and a half away."

"Yeah, so let's get walking!" Dean jumped out of the car and went to the trunk, while Sam sighed deeply, and set his own logical opinion aside. He stepped from the car and pulled the metal detector from the back seat. He was going to love lugging this thing the remainder of the distance.

Dean threw a backpack over his shoulder, took a shovel up into his left hand, and slammed the trunk shut.

"You ready?" He looked at Sam. Sam shrugged in a way which he hopped would convey the statement, 'yeah, ya crazy son of a bitch, if you're actually serious about this', then watched as his brother turned away and started walking. Sam sighed and walked after him, given the added length of his legs, he caught up almost too easily, then shortened his stride to match his brother's. They walked in silence for a few minutes, then it started. Sam could see the concerned glances shooting his way. It was inevitable really, Dean wouldn't be able to do anything about Jo until they reached the apartment building, his efforts and agitation needed to land somewhere.

"How you holding up?" Dean asked. Sam shook his head at what he easily interpreted to be a loaded question.

"How am I holding up?" Sam raised an eyebrow and looked down at his brother.

"Yeah." Dean gazed up as he tried to keep pace with Sam's quickening step.

"I'm fine, Dean… why?" Sam questioned with accusation.

"Nothin'," Dean countered, sensing Sam's tone. "It's just… I feel like I haven't even seen you since we got to Philly."

"Yeah well… I'm still here."

"Good."

"And I'm _fine_," Sam added sharply.

"O-kay," Dean returned in a similar tone. They continued to walk in silence for several beats. Sam couldn't let it drop; he abruptly stopped walking.

"Ya know Dean, I'm not stupid. I know what this is about!" Dean stopped and turned on him with a fixed stare.

"Really?" Dean questioned. "Wanna fill me in?"

"I'm not passing out anytime soon if that's what you're worried about?!"

"I'm not worried." Dean turned and started to walk.

"Right…" Sam caught up with him. "You know, you might be spending the majority of your efforts watching out for Jo…"

"Yeah, hell of a lotta good that did!" Dean criticized; Sam just continued.

"…but I seen you keeping tabs on me too, Dean!"

"What?" Dean questioned curtly, as he kept moving.

"All last night man," Sam elaborated, "the concerned glances… over my _headache_… which, by the way, was brought on as a direct result of you and Jo bickering for three hours straight!" Dean stopped and turned on him.

"I wasn't _glancing_… and I sure as hell wasn't bickering!"

"Uh huh… and when I was in the bathroom too long… because I was trying to get away from the two of you- you were shouting to me like every five minutes!"

"I needed to go!"

"Bullshit, Dean! You needed to check on me! I'm not fragile, I'm not gonna break, and I can look out for myself!"

"Yeah well, I think the jury's still out on that one," Dean quipped. Sam frowned.

"You already used that line on Jo… do us all a favor, back off!" Sam started to walk away, then turned to add, "And get some new material." With that, Sam took off down the sidewalk, leaving his brother standing alone, and totally pissed off.

"I swear to God," Dean bitched to himself. "This younger sibling shit is gonna be my damn death! Between Sam and Jo I feel like fuckin' 'Charles in Charge'!" Dean sucked it up, and took off after his brother.

"Look!" Dean caught Sam by the arm. "I admit it, okay!" Sam stopped and listened, slightly taken aback. "I'm a little… _just a little_, concerned about whatever the hell's going on with you!"

"Dean--"

"Sam, you passed out three times with no explanation--"

"Dean!" Sam severed his brother's words. He wanted to talk about it, sort of, but not at the expense of someone's life. "We don't have time for this! We need to find Jo!" Dean's current thoughts stopped cold.

"You're right," he abruptly agreed, letting go of Sam. "You're totally right." Dean shifted awkwardly, and ran his free hand through his hair. "Let's go," he said quietly, and with that, Dean dropped his external concern, and led the way back to the apartment building.

* * *

Dean crouched in the shadows, his brother at his side, as they patiently waited for the spirit in question. They were at a good distance, far enough to keep out of site, close enough to get there in time. Dean ran a thumb along the barrel of his shotgun, and peered through the darkness at Jo. 

"Sam," he whispered, keeping his voice extremely low, "we doing the right thing here?"

"What?" Sam replied, matching his brother's volume. "Using Jo as bait?"

"Yeah… I mean… he already took her once, and--"

"Dean… it may have been your idea… but it was her choice, she agreed."

"So?"

"So she wants this Dean, she wants to nail this bastard."

"She was scared, Sam." Dean turned and looked at his brother. "When we got here… she was different. She understood… she understood the risk."

"So what?" Sam questioned. "Dean when the hell did understanding _the risk_ ever stop you?"

"I'm not talking about me!" Dean tore the words at his brother, his volume still low. "She shouldn't be in the middle of this. She should be someplace safe, living her damn life. She should be at college, she should…" Dean turned away. "I shouldn't have dragged her into this."

"Dragged her into it?" Sam repeated; his brother wasn't making sense. "Dean, you didn't _drag_ anybody."

"Yeah…" Dean whispered. "_I did_."

Dean kept his gaze steadily in front of himself, and Sam felt a slight sinking feeling as his gut tightened with recognition.

"You're not talking about Jo… _are you?_" Sam asked. Dean slowly turned and caught eye contact with his younger brother; Sam's gut tightened further. Before either of them could say a word, Sam shifted his eyes and fixed them on something far behind his brother. His eyes widened with readiness, H.H. Holmes had taken their bate.

Dean didn't need to peer back over his shoulder to know what Sam was looking at. He motioned for his brother to move to the opposite wall, ran his hand up the barrel of his gun, and grasping its underside, turned to do his job.

* * *

_"It was your father Dean!" _

"_What?"_ Dean stood just outside the Roadhouse trying to absorb Jo's words.

"_Why do you think John never came back,"_ Jo continued,_ "never told you about us? Cause he couldn't look my mom in the eye after that, that's why."_

"_Jo…"_ Dean began weakly.

"_Just, just get out of here… please, just leave." _Jo turned and walked off.

Dean stood, staring at the dirt, piecing together certain things which suddenly made sense. He collected his thoughts, somewhat, then headed straight back into the bar. He pushed open the door, and spotting Ellen, quickly moved towards her.

"Ellen! Ellen, we need to talk."

"No Dean," Ellen said as she began to walk away. "We ain't got nothin' to talk about."

"Yeah, well… I think we do," Dean persisted.

"Get out of my bar!" Ellen instructed. Dean stepped forward and as she turned, he grabbed her by the arm.

"Listen to me," he began with a slightly pleading tone in his voice. Ellen stopped, he had her attention. "I know what you must have went through, worrying… about Jo."

"No you don't!" She responded fiercely. "You have no idea!"

"Don't I?! Ellen, all I have is Sam. And don't try to tell me that it's different, cause hell, _I'm_ the one that raised him!" Both Ellen and Dean stood motionless as the words cut out into the bar. Dean caught his breath and continued blindly, words floating from his head, to his mouth, to his ears… "My Dad… hell, he barely knew how to raise me… but Sam? Sam was mine… he was all mine, from the beginning. And if anything--" Dean glanced away, his eyes turning soft, then hardening. "This Demon… these abilities… Sam's life is in danger every day. Every damn day!"

"I'm sorry for your troubles Dean… I am," Ellen commiserated, then _her_ eyes hardened, "but all the more reason to keep the _hell_ away from my daughter!" With those words she yanked her arm out of Dean's now loose grasp, and pushed through the swinging door into the back room.

Dean stood in the bar alone, unsure of what he had even said, or why the hell he had been compelled to say it. _I'm talking to a fucking stranger… I'm talking to my fucking self! _

Dean breathed deep as his fear and concern converted back into aggressive anger. Without hesitation, he grabbed an empty beer bottle off one of the tables, clinched the base tight in his fist, then cocked his arm back and threw it with all his rage into the front door. As it shattered against the wood, he took brief satisfaction in the object's destruction.

Dean stared hard at its broken remains, somehow, he related to it.

* * *

Thanks for reading everyone! As always, hope to hear your thoughts : ) 

Kate


	7. Chapter 7

I'm starting to sound repetitive, but as usual - thanks to all who read and reviewed, and to Melja for her usual help and support : )

Here is chapter 7 - as probably anticipated, it tags 'The Usual Suspects'.

Again - dialogue in quotes and italics is directly from the episode, and will hopefully help you know where we're at.

Before we start I just want to give a heads up that this is the second to last chapter. Chapter 8 will be the close of this story - and will hopefully bring some resolve.  
I hope to have it posted this Monday - no later than Tuesday, and really hope you all show up for the end!

Okay -so enough with the talk - on with the story…

* * *

**Decisions In Blood**

**CH 7 **

Sam sat on the hood of the car in front of the Roadhouse and watched his brother finish talking to Jo, then unexpectedly turn, and head back into the bar. Something was going on. Sam wasn't sure what, but he was sure he need to know what. He stood and walked out into the middle of the field, out to Jo. As he reached her, he hesitated for a moment, then placed a hand on her shoulder. She turned, slightly startled, and when she saw Sam, brushed the tears out of her eyes. Sam's demeanor immediately softened, and he shifted into his concerned interrogation mode, the one he usually saved for people who had just lost a loved one, but needed to tell a complete stranger about the things in their house which went bump in the night.

"Jo, hey… what's going on?" Sam asked. Jo scanned the area.

"Where'd your brother go?" She questioned.

"Back into the bar," Sam responded. Jo's eyes when wide, as she realized he had probably gone to talk to her Mother.

"Damn, he really is twisted," she blurted.

"Jo…" Sam warned, making it clear he didn't want games, he wanted answers.

"My Dad… and your Dad." Jo cut to the chase. "They were on a hunt together. Your Dad messed up… my Dad died," she finished. Sam's eyes darkened.

A crash came from inside the bar and both of them turned to see Dean push though the door, completely hell bent. He briefly glanced in their direction.

"Sam, if you want a ride you'd better move your ass!" Dean shouted. Sam turned back to Jo and they exchanged a glance. Without another word, Sam took off towards the Impala. He ran straight to the driver's window and knocked on the glass. Dean rolled the window partially down, and barked at his brother without looking at him.

"Get in!"

"Dean…" Sam tried.

"I said, get in!" Dean repeated with a tempered growl as he started the car. Sam's eye's narrowed, he dropped his hands from the glass, shook his head, and quickly got himself inside the Impala only moments before Dean pulled her away.

They sat in silence as Dean tore his car down the long dirt road, kicking a massive dust cloud out behind her tail. Sam side swiped his eyes toward his brother, careful not to move any part of his body during the course of his evaluation. He gave it several more minutes, then allowed his urge to take over. Sam turned to face the driver seat.

"Dean," he spoke up. Receiving no response, he went again. "Dean," he repeated. Dean kept his eyes on the road, and his mouth shut.

Sam had had enough. He threw one arm over the back of his seat, and the other onto the dashboard, puffing out his testosterone in preparation to do battle.

"Dean!" Sam shouted rough and loud in a tone that required obedience. Dean completely ignored him. "Dean! Stop the damn car, we need to talk!"

Dean held his forward stare and pressed the gas pedal hard to the floor in response.

Sam ignored his brother's avoidance and cut straight at the jugular. "Look, I'm sorry you pissed off Ellen, and I'm sorry you think you somehow hurt Jo, but this has nothing to do with us! It was before our time, Dean. Whatever happened, it was _Dad's_ mistake, not ours!" Sam insisted fiercely. "So cut the crap attitude, and quit punishing yourself over it!"

Contradicting his prior response of silence induced speed, Dean turned the wheel of the Impala with a sharp jerk to his left. The car followed with the motion of his arms and swerved off road onto the rugged gravel shoulder. Dean slammed his foot to the break; they jolted to a harsh stop. The oldest Winchester turned to his kid brother, his temper flaring, his eyes bearing the brunt of what it meant to be head of his family. He panted violently, as he tried to contain the rage which had suddenly consumed him.

Still… he said nothing.

Sam was right, whatever had happened on that hunt, had nothing to do with him, but it wasn't the hunt he was punishing himself over.

Dean stared at his brother. _How can I talk to him? _ _How can I talk to him when I can't save him? When I can't save myself?_

"What?!" Sam finally shouted into the silence. "What? Just say it!" He challenged. Dean turned away and punched his fist brutally into the steering wheel. It landed dead center; it was an inadequate misplacement of his anger. The horn choked out a mournful honk in response.

"Fuck!" He shouted.

Dean grabbed at the handle of his door, shoved it open, and hastily got out. He slammed it shut, and walked away.

Sam stayed in the car, staring through the window at his brother, who was now standing several feet from the car in a visibly frustrated stance. He didn't really want to go after him, there was something about Dean's mood that suddenly troubled him, that suddenly got his voices going. Sam brought a hand to his temple and pressed two fingers to the area just above his left eye; his breath was increasing; it was coming. He still couldn't explain what it was, but he had learned to recognize its approach, and knew if he stayed put in the car, it would consume him in a matter of moments.

Sam panicked and grabbed at the door handle. The instant he touched it, he felt a hand grasp like a claw into this shoulder. Sam turned back into the car, startled. Dean was in the driver seat. He hadn't heard the door open, there hadn't been enough time for his brother to get in the car, yet there he was.

"Dean?" Sam eyed him with a perplexed confusion.

"Goin' somewhere Sammy?" Dean asked suspiciously.

"I… uh…" Sam stuttered, "was coming to talk to you."

"Were you? You wanna talk?" Dean questioned menacingly.

"Uh… yeah…" Sam whispered.

"What do you wanna talk about, Sammy?" Dean reached out and grabbed Sam's left hand. He twisted it harshly, forcing it palm up, then shoved Sam's sleeve away in an action which abruptly exposed his scars. "You wanna talk about this?!" Dean shouted with a stern fierceness.

"No… no…" Sam shook his head.

"Is this what you want?" Dean pushed the scars into Sam's face. "Is it, Sam?"

"No… I…" Sam whimpered as he retracted in shame.

"Is this what you want? Here… let me help you!" Dean pulled a small knife from his pocket, and sliced it across Sam's wrist.

"Dean, no… please… please," Sam begged, his emotions torn and tangled in his brother's cruel words and actions. Dean cut three more times, the last time he stopped and held the blade against Sam's skin. He pushed it further and further into the flesh. Sam soaked in the slow sting of the blade as it tore clean through his muscle, then scraped rough against the gritty texture of his bones. Dean leaned in on him and spoke with a growling undertone.

"Let me help you," he forced.

Sam's breath caught short in his throat, and his head nodded off to the side. His eyes shut for a instant before he caught himself and jerked back awake. He threw his arms out to his sides and glanced the interior of the car in a panic.

Dean was gone; Sam was alone.

Sam pushed his left sleeve up, his arm was fine, only the original scars shined in the skin. He looked out the window and found his brother standing exactly where he had walked to. _What the fuck?_ He thought, trying to still the violent shake which was working its way through his body. _What the fuck?_

Sam stared out at his brother. Dean wasn't the one who had cut him, Dean wasn't the one who had tormented him with the secret he had struggled so hard to keep silent. Sam stared blankly through the glass; Dean was merely the one who was never going to forgive him.

* * *

Dean sat in the holding room of the police station, handcuffed to the table. He had realized the name 'Dana Shulps' was actually an anagram; what they needed to be investigating was a street, _Ashland_. He had written his findings on a small sheet of paper, along with two names which would instruct his brother it was time for him to split this joint. The moment his lawyer left the room with said piece of paper, Dean realized that if he wanted Sam to escape, he needed to give the kid more than a scrap of notebook containing six words, he needed to give Sam time. 

Dean could only see one way to provide that, he gazed at the reflective sheet of glass in front of him.

"Hey!" He shouted at it obnoxiously. "Somebody tell Tommy Lee Jones I'm done blaming the one armed man! I wanna confess!" He smirked. _That should get 'em in here faster than a free box of donuts._

Dean sat back and waited. _Now,_ he thought, _what the fuck am I suppose to confess? _ Dean drifted for a moment, drifted to where he shouldn't have. His smug expression faded. He reached up and rubbed a hand against his chest, stopping as he felt the impression of his Father's dog tags beneath the fabric of his shirt. Dean's lower lip trembled as he released a shaky breath. _I suppose I could always tell the truth,_ he concluded. Dean cleared his mind of everything but his confession:

_My name is Dean Winchester, _he stated clearly in his head._ And I'm a murderer. My Father is dead because of me… and my brother… there's nothing I can do to stop it._

The door opened abruptly, and in an uncontrolled swing, slammed deafeningly into the wall. Dean jerked from his cosmic confession. He turned toward Detective Sheridan, and knowing damn well the guy had it in for him, decided better to go with a slightly different truth.

Sam read the small scrap of paper and promptly interpreted what he was being told to do. No problem, he had come up with a strategy of exit within the first five minutes of entering the room. The only thing Sam hadn't figured, was how to get rid of the uselessly dedicated guy in the blue suit. Sam broke out of his thoughts when he heard the door open.

"_We need you… with the other one,"_ Diana instructed the man from the public defender's office. And with that, the room was all Sam's.

Sam smirked, he knew damn well his sudden lack of supervision was the work of his brother. Sam stood and walked to the window. He unlocked it, and with a hard shove, brought it open. Sam didn't even bother to look out it, he turned, walked back to the desk, and crawled underneath. It was a ridiculously tight fit, which was exactly why no one would look there for him. Sam stretched a long arm out and dragged the chair up against the desk. He pulled it as far in as he could, just enough so that it was positioned to block him from view, yet leave enough space under the desk for the likes of himself.

Now all he had to do… was wait.

Sam held his head against his knees and wondered how long he would need to hold the contortionist-like position. However long it timed, he would wait, he would escape. He knew what sort of shit he was getting himself into, legally. He knew that depending on how things landed, he was taking his first steps down a steep, out of control decent, which could make crawling back up and eventually attending law school a clear-cut impossibility. _I can't care about that anymore. _He told himself._ It can't matter. All you're losing is the life you wanted. But Dean… they could legally fucking murder him, and you're the only one that can stop it. So stop it._

Sam shut his eyes and felt his knees press against his forehead. He hadn't sat like this since that day in the junkyard, since that day he'd hoped Dean would come to him. _Fuck… fuck…_ Sam pressed his head hard into his knees and wished for his brother's voice knowing damn well it was locked away in some nearby room, knowing damn well that if he didn't hold himself together and get the hell out of here, Dean's voice would stay locked in that room, or worse.

Sam's eyes opened as he sensed someone approaching. He listened to the sound of the door opening, and then abrupt and brief silence as the room was discovered seemingly empty.

"_What the hell… where is he?"_ Sam heard Pete's voice as its proximity shifted from one side of the room to the other. As anticipated, he could see legs by the window. _"What he do? The fire escape's way over here-- what?"_

_Fuck,_ Sam panicked, thinking he'd been found. He shut his eyes like a child playing hide and seek, believing if he couldn't see, he couldn't be seen.

"_These two guys."_ Diana's voice drifted against his nerves.

"_Hilts and McQueen, what is that?"_ Pete's voice cut impatiently, as it reassured Sam he was still invisible.

"_Hilts is Steve McQueen's character in 'The Great Escape'."_

Sam smiled. Somehow he could hear it, somewhere deep behind the instinct to do her job, Diana was slightly amused. Dean had that affect on people, you didn't necessarily want to like him, you were just compelled to act against your better judgment. Sam knew _he_ always was.

"Come on." Sam perked up as he heard Pete proclaim his exiting statement. He gave it about thirty seconds, then cautiously and quietly came out from under the desk.

Sam cracked his neck with a sharp head jerk to the right, and stepped to the door which had been left slightly ajar. He had one quick stop to make. He needed some photos from crime scenes and bookings, but after he lifted what he needed, Sam would be surprised at how easy he found it to walk straight out of the precinct.

* * *

Sam hadn't been at the hotel long, possibly only half an hour. He sat at the computer, glanced at a couple of the photos he had stolen, and drifted into his head. He was getting nowhere, and nowhere wasn't an option. Dean was depending on him. _If I don't piece this together… I'll lose him… I'll lose him all over again._

Sam's breath hitched and shot like a flare into his head. A knock beat into the door, and Sam rose to answer it. He pulled it open without speculating who it could be; who would be coming to see him, when no one should know where he was?

"Dean?" Sam questioned, as he moved out of the way and let his brother enter the room. He shut the door behind him, then continued to question. "What are you doing here? How the hell did you escape?" Dean turned and stared at him with a calm eeriness.

"I would have been here sooner," he explained, "but I had to stop to pick something up." He held up a crumpled, brown paper lunch bag. It was stuffed full.

"Um… okay," Sam said. Without another word Dean walked into the bathroom, flipped on the light, and emptied the contents of the bag into the sink.

Sam followed into the small room. He stared down into the sink, and found the white basin full with bottles of prescription pills. Sam glanced back up at his brother.

"What's all this?" He questioned.

"It's what you want, Sam," Dean explained.

"What?" Sam asked innocently.

"The pills," Dean said, his tone harsh. He reached into the sink and picked up a fistful of bottles. "Isn't this what you want?"

"I… um…" Sam backed towards the tub as Dean advanced on him. "No… I…" Sam shook his head as he stepped and fell against the edge of the tub. Dean immediately grabbed him by the shirt with his free hand and pushed him the rest of the way. Sam reached out in a panic, but one hand dragged along the slick tiles, while the other only ripped the shower curtain down as he fell.

"Is this what you want?!" Dean shoved a kneed into Sam's chest to keep him from getting up, then opened a bottle of pills. "Let me help you," Dean said smugly.

Sam struggled, but Dean was shockingly strong, he held his little brother down, forced his mouth open, and dumped the bottle of pills into his throat. Sam choked, lurched, and struggled to keep from swallowing, but as soon as one bottle was emptied, Dean began with another, then another. Sam tried to argue, to scream, but the pills filled his mouth and all he could do was fight to breath as the bitter, melting tablets dripped their horrid toxin down his throat.

Dean yanked Sam close, and forced a tight hand over little brother's mouth.

"Let me help you."

Sam's breath fixed in his throat, and his vision blackened. He instantly startled awake, the sound of a stifled cry opening wide and loud into the porcelain covered room. Sam sucked in his surroundings with a clear breath of air.

Dean was gone; his mouth was empty, no pills.

"Fuck." Sam shuttered as he pushed himself up over the edge of the tub. "Wh- what the f- fuck 's happening to me?" Sam released a stifled sob, then cut his frailty short. "No, no." He shook his head and wiped his eyes. "You can't do this… you can't!"

Sam pushed himself up and bolted back into the bedroom. He made it as far as the bed, then his knees gave way and he buckled to the floor. His frailty had hit him hard, and allowed himself to drop his face into folded arms on the edge of the mattress. He needed a minute to figure this out.

_It's just guilt. It isn't visions… it isn't real… it just… it felt so damn real… so fucking… fuck! _ _God I wanna tell him… I can't hide this… I can't… he can't… he… he's so angry… about Dad… if he knew I… you have to protect him. You have to contain it. _

Sam lifted his head from the mattress and turned himself to sit on the floor, shoulders against the end of the bed. He dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling, slowly… he released a pained laugh.

"What am I doin'? I'm stronger than this." Sam lifted his head, cleared his mind, and brought himself to a calm. _Whatever it is, it's progressing. You had two of these… delusions, but now you know. You're prepared. It happens again… you deal with it. You just fucking deal with it._ _Now get up, and get back to work. _

Sam stood, walked to the table, and set back to work via the laptop.  
Nothing was going to rattle him… nothing.

* * *

When Sam heard the second knock on his hotel door he didn't know what to expect, but as earlier decided, he held himself calm, and showed no sign of concern. Luckily, this time when he answered, it was not his brother, not another delusion, it was just a real live person; it was Diana. At first he was taken aback, then he realized she could never have found him this quickly on her own. If she was here, it was because Dean had sent her. Sam stepped back and let her enter. 

Twenty minutes later they were at Ashland. It took a few minutes to break into the supply building they deemed relevant, and Sam couldn't help but smirk as Diana eyed his quickness with popping the lock. They cautiously entered the supply house, and at first glance, Sam really wasn't sure were to begin.

"_So what exactly are we looking for?"_ Diana asked the experienced hunter.

"_I'll let you know when we find it,"_ Sam admitted freely. He knew what he was doing, and certainly knew more than her, but same as a police investigation, a lead was only a lead, and nothing more until something was found. He had no idea what was to be found.

Sam lurked through the dark, junk filled room, keeping Diana behind him, keeping alert. He scanned the area with his flashlight and landed the beam on an old set of stairs. Sam stopped and stared. He needed to go up them. His mind went into hyper-focus, and without a word he began to ascend them. He slowly crept upwards leaving Diana in the lower room. As he reached the top he stepped forward a bit, and his eyes focused on a door. Sam walked to it, and pushed it open with his casted hand. He moved inside, letting the door swing mostly shut behind him, and continued to inspect his new surroundings.

It looked just like downstairs, half filled shelves, junk, darkness. Sam stepped fully into the space and towards the opposite wall. Something quickly caught his attention. Sam reached forward and touched the long, thin, metal object which was resting upright against the concrete wall. He took it into his hand, grasped it firmly, and picked it up.

Sam's breath hitched in his throat as he lifted the crowbar towards his face. Suddenly, he had a bad feeling about this. Sam lowered the crowbar to his side, paused, then turned around.

"Fuck," he gasped under his breath. Dean was standing directly in front of him. Before Sam could blink, Dean's punch hit him square in the face.

Sam fell back into the concrete wall, dropping the crowbar to the floor with a loud clank. He looked up into his brother's eyes. _It's not real,_ he reminded himself. _He's not real._ Sam's head smacked with a crack against the wall as Dean's second punch hit.

"Hey Sammy. Is this what you want?" Dean scowled as he cracked his knuckles and prepared for another hit.

"You're not real," Sam insisted, placing his hands out in a defensive manner. "You're not real."

"Really… well then this shouldn't hurt." Dean smirked, advanced on his brother, and threw repetitive punches with relentless force. He beat Sam in the face, then the chest, then closed with one last rough upper cut to the gut. Sam braced himself against the wall, one hand to the concrete, one hand to his chest.

It hurt.

Real or delusional, it fucking hurt like a bitch.

Sam raised a hand to his face and brushed the blood off his lip. He wasn't going to let it get the better of him, and he wasn't going to play into it, he was simply going to survive it until it passed. Sam let his hand drop. He looked his brother in the eyes and spoke from his gut.

"You're not… fucking… real!"

Dean stepped forward and grabbed him by the throat with one hand. Sam struggled to stay conscious as he felt his air restrict.

"Is this what you want?" Dean continued to question. Sam tried to speak, to repeat his new little mantra, but he couldn't seem to get anything through his lips except the small gasps of air which were keeping him alive. Dean slowly reached to the floor and lifted the crowbar up into his hands. As Sam realized what his brother was doing, he finally began to weaken, emotionally. He knew that crowbar, he knew the anger it held, the pain it could transfer in the severity of its impact.

Dean let go of Sam's throat and stepped away as he gripped the metal rod with both hands and swung it behind his head like a bat.

"Is this what you want?"

"No… no…" Sam pleaded, as what he interpreted as both resentment and disappointment seemed to enter his older brother's eyes.

"Let me help you." Dean whipped the crowbar toward his baby brother's skull.

All Sam could do was flinch and throw his arms up to block. Instead of the smashing pain of impact, Sam felt his head go heavy and nod harshly off his neck. He quickly jerked himself to alertness and realized the impact never came. Sam pushed out two harsh breaths and looked out in front of him. He was alone, crowbar abandoned to the floor, blood gone from his face.

Sam shook it off, quickly, trying to pretend like he had succeeded in his plan of holding steady.

"See… this one… no problem," Sam joked to himself sarcastically. He ran a hand through his hair, relieved it was over, then jumped, startled as hell when he heard his name suddenly yelled from below.

"Sam!" The panicked voice shouted again; Diana was in trouble.

"Shit…" without catching a break, Sam took off into a run back down the stairs, reluctantly recapping the experience in his mind. _That sucked, _Sam admitted. B_ut you survived it, and be honest with yourself, that crowbar… it can't get much worse._

* * *

Sam watched as Diana put a bullet through her partner's heart. It was the second shot fired in the past minute, and it snapped him out of the harsh disquiet his mind had entered as he had stood by and patiently waited to see if his brother would be executed. 

Sam tried to shake it off, everything that had, and had not happened. He steadied himself, and walked not to Dean, but to Diana. He stooped down, and looked at her with his usual concern.

"You alright?" He asked, gently. Diana turned toward him with strict intent in her eyes.

"I'd check on your brother if I were you," she instructed vacantly. Sam was slightly taken aback, but as told, he turned to check on his brother.

Dean was gone, gone from the spot where he had sat on the ground. Sam's eyes shifted, and he quickly turned around to find not only Diana missing, but also Pete's body. Sam stood numbly, he hadn't felt his breath hitch, he didn't know what was going on.

Sam slowly walked to the spot where his brother had been, paused briefly as he eyed the empty ground, then turned and walked into the woods. He couldn't explain it, couldn't understand where he was headed, or why, he was just compelled to go. Sam walked a short distance until he came to a small clearing.

Directly in front of him, on the opposite side, his focus was drawn to a specific tree which was significantly larger than the others. Its thick branches reached out into the clearing, and canopied the area above his head. He looked up, gazed calmly at the deep blue sky, at the purple night clouds that wisped in bunches and stringed across the moon. Sam felt a cold breeze curl around his chest and up the back of his neck. He shivered, wrapped his arms around himself, and with unobserved apprehension, stepped closer to the base of the large tree.

Sam came close enough to touch it. He extended his arm, stretched out his hand, and found he had just enough length to brush his finger tips against the bark, except it didn't feel like bark. It felt like flesh, warm and soft, emoting a primal need to be touched.

Sam pulled his hand away as his sensory system struggled to make peace with the grossly contradicting feeling. Suddenly taken by a sharp desire to flee, he stepped backwards into the area he had come from. Before he could turn, he felt himself collide with a bump into something that ran the full length of his back. It softly gave way with his movement, and Sam's feeling of disconcert widened, as he knew nothing had been in that area when he approached. Sam took a small step forward and turned around.

Dean hung cold and grey, eyes shut, suspended from a heavy overhead branch, via a noose.

Sam stumbled backwards as terror infected his system and spread through his body and mind like a rapid, ruthless disease. He tried to control himself. _This isn't real_, he attempted. _It isn't re--_ Sam's thought severed as he became consumed by a need to touch his brother, to reach out to him in death, as neither of them had reached out to each other in life.

Sam stretched outward just as he had with the tree. His fingers extended and came upon Dean's cheek. He brushed them downward, slowly… gently… keeping his connection, skin against skin.

This touch wasn't like the tree, it was cold… distant… dead.

Nothing more than flesh, flesh ready to rot off the bone because it had grown disconnected, because it had severed its attachment to what had once kept it alive.

A slow tear beaded under Dean's shut eye and dropped. It slid down his ashen skin and spread across Sam's fingers.

Sam looked directly into his brother's face; Dean opened his eyes wide and raw.

"Is this what you want?" His corpse asked. "Let me help you."

Sam released a terrified scream as the words brushed into his brain. He stumbled back into the trunk of the tree, and trembled in self-reproach as the truth hit him hard:

_I'm killing him… I'm the problem… I'm killing my brother. _

Sam dragged a hand up his chest and clutched at his throat. Slowly, he strengthened his grip and closed his air passage completely. He felt the warm skin of his neck turn cold and quiet beneath his hand.

He couldn't breath…  
he didn't want to.

* * *

Probably don't need to say that I love to hear from you guys - but shit - I just said it. : ( 

Kate


	8. Chapter 8

Where to begin, now that we're at the end.

This is the final chapter of _Decisions In Blood_, and I seriously need to thank everyone who spent the time to review. When I posted the first chapter, I had absolutely no intension of continuing this story, and now, thanks to the reviews and encouragement, it has grown into 8 chapters which I have truly loved writing.

So thank you!

As always - big hug to melja for her consistent support through this story!

FYI - I'll be holding my usual comments from the end of this chapter- so I'll say now, hope to hear from you, but if not, hope you at least enjoy the long overdue closure!

As probably anticipated, this chapter tags to **_Cross Road Blues_**.

I can't explain how cool it was to have this episode sync to what I had already decided would be the final chapter. I did a little research on legendary bluesman Robert Johnson and found a very eerie description of a vision another bluesman, Henry Goodman, had about Johnson's encounter at the crossroad.

Anyway, it was down right creepy and talked about how the deal went down at midnight under the bright light of the full moon. As I was walking home tonight, I looked into the sky and found an intensely full moon staring back at me, so I guess it's the right night to finally post this! Not to mention, seems like it may be going up oddly close to midnight :)

And yeah, I listened to a shit load of blues while writing this - listen long enough, and it really does tug at your _soul…_

* * *

**Decisions In Blood**

**CH 8**

Dean watched as Diana put a bullet through her partner's heart. It was the second shot fired in the past minute, and he exhaled in relief that both he and his brother were now safe.

Dean looked to Sam, then watched as his sibling walked to Diana and knelt beside her.

"You alright?" Dean heard Sam ask.

"Yea, I guess," Diana's voice came in response, numbly. Dean shifted awkwardly in his cuffs, knelt, and prepared to stand. As he moved, he heard Diana. "Sam?" She questioned. Dean knew immediately something was wrong, her tone carried an odd concern. He looked up to find Sam scanning the area, seemingly confused. He was checking for something, searching. Dean wasn't sure for what, but he trusted his brother's instincts, and so cautiously glanced the area for anything out of the ordinary. To Dean's dismay, the only thing out of the ordinary, was Sam's behavior.

Sam walked warily towards him and stopped.

"Sam?" Dean questioned in much the same tone as Diana. Sam looked down at him, and pretty much through him, as if he weren't even there. "Sammy?" Dean tried again. Sam didn't respond, he only turned and walked away, walked slowly into the woods.

Dean quickly exchanged a worried glance with Diana. He had no idea what was going on, he only knew he needed to follow his brother. He started to move after him, but was abruptly cut short by the chains which bound his wrists and ankles. Dean turned to Diana.

"Get these off me," he demanded. She hesitated, and he remembered the overall situation. "I have to go after him. Please, help me," he requested, his desperation apparent.

"Alright," Diana replied. She had seen enough to trust them, and was genuinely concerned about Sam. She moved to Pete's body, pulled the keys from his clothes, and rushed to un-cuff Dean.

"What's wrong with him?" She asked as she worked through the locks.

"I don't know," Dean admitted. "I just know he's in trouble." As the final lock unlatched, Dean stood and rushed in the direction his brother had headed, Diana remained close behind, keeping him in her sights, trusting, yet still slightly wary of his actions.

Dean pushed into the woods, ran several feet, then stopped.

"Shit." He eyed the area quick and panicked; he had no idea which direction his brother had headed. Diana ran up just behind him.

"Sam!" She shouted.

They stood in silence.

"He couldn't have gotten that far," Diana pointed out.

"Yeah well, he's got long legs," Dean tried to make light of the situation. It was a crap attempt, he was worried as hell. "Maybe if we--", both Dean and Diana turned sharply as Sam's horrified cry tore through the woods. "Shit!"

Dean took off into a sprint. He was quick. He dodged through the trees and brush, holding a steady path until he broke into a small, well lit clearing, then stopped cold. Sam was several feet in front of him and stood with his back against a large tree. His eyes were just wrong: hollow, yet saturated in a deep anguish Dean could feel where he stood. Dean latched into it and froze, mind and body, he felt himself paralyze as he watched his younger brother raise a hand to his throat and begin to forcibly squeeze his own air passage shut.

Dean wanted to move, he wanted to scream; all he could manage was to stop breathing right along with him.

Diana burst into the clearing and stopped short as well, just next to Dean. She gasped slightly as she took in what Sam was doing.

"Oh my god," she whispered, then registered that Dean was doing nothing. "Dean!" She cried. Dean broke out of his head and began to breath. Snapping back into authority, he ran to his brother and grasped at his hand.

"Sam stop! Stop it!" He shouted as he tried and failed to pull Sam's hand from his throat.

He was losing him. Dean filled with fear as he slid his hands onto Sam's face, looked him in the eyes, and practically whispered his panicked plea.

"Damn it Sammy… _let me help you_."

…_let me help you…_

As the familiar words brushed against him, Sam shivered. His hand loosened from his throat, went slack, and dropped to his side. Dean caught his brother by the shoulders as he began to slide down the tree. The moment Dean grasped him, Sam jolted awake, harshly threw himself back against the rough bark of the tree, and took in his altered surroundings.

Dean observed as his brother seemed to _see_ him for the first time since he had entered the clearing. Sam was clearly relieved, and he smiled slightly as he couldn't help but place his hand to Dean's chest. Dean glanced down, surprised by the affectionate contact, then looked up to find Sam had snapped briskly back into the overall moment. A clear expression of discomfort and embarrassment scorched Sam's face as he realized he had caused some sort of bizarre and unexplainable scene in front of not only his brother, but also Diana. The hand he had to Dean's chest quickly retracted, tensed, then again reached out. With a stagger, it landed against Dean in a stern pat of the chest.

Sam shot a deliberate look into his brother's eyes. Dean knew that look, he had invented it. It was the same look he gave Sam when something had gotten the better of him, but he was too proud to ask for help. Now his look was being turned on him, and he didn't like it, not at all, but he had to respect it. Like it or not, Dean knew the other part of that look meant, 'I need space to deal'. If Sam was giving him this look, it was in part because he wasn't ready to talk about whatever had happened, and Dean knew damn well that if one of them wasn't ready to talk, nothing good could come from a forced attempt.

Sam pushed past him and walked out of the clearing as Dean stayed silent. He stared vacantly, gradually drifting into his head.

"Dean?"

Dean jolted slightly at the sound of his name and turned to face Diana, he had completely forgotten she was there. This was going to be uncomfortable.

"Dean, what just happened here?" She interrogated. Dean remained firmly silent.

_You ask as if I have answers,_ he thought.

"Is Sam alright?" Diana continued.

_Does he seem alright? _He only glanced at her.

"You alright?" She persisted into the silence.

_Ha_… He let the ridiculous thought sift through him without so much as blinking.

"Fine… I'll ask Sam." She began to walk away.

"Don't--" Dean started, then cut short; he couldn't let that happen. Diana turned back to him and waited… patiently. Dean sighed and fidgeted uncomfortably. "I… I don't know how to help him," he admitted abruptly. Diana waited for more, none came.

"He's a good kid," she said pointedly. "I'm still trying to figure out what you are," she glanced him over, "but I'm pretty sure a bad brother is not on the list." Dean looked away. "You care about him, you'll find a way to help him." She said it with such certainty, Dean almost believed her… almost. He remained painfully silent. Diana look in a small breath, she liked Sam. "Anything I can do?" She offered.

"Space," Dean responded after a moment. "Just give him space."

"Space?" Diana questioned. She sized him up again. "Is that what he needs… or what _you_ need?" Dean felt the burn. He fired it out his eyes at her, contained the rest, and walked briskly out of the clearing.

Diana folded her arms and whispered to herself, "Sure, Hilts escaped… briefly… but it was the solitary confinement that drove his partner to crack and get himself killed." She glanced to the tree, then to the exit of the clearing, shook her head, and left.

* * *

Sam stood in the hallway of Evan Hudson's home arguing with his brother. Dean's plan made sense, sort of, but that didn't mean Sam was about to let him do it. 

"_You think maybe Dad made one of these deals, huh?" _Sam cut to his point._ "Hell, I've been thinking it, I'm sure you've been thinking it too!" _

"_It fits doesn't it?" _ Dean agreed calmly._ "I'm alive, Dad's dead, yellow eyed demon was involved. What if he did? What if he struck a deal? My life for his soul." _

Sam swallowed a dry knot of nothing down his throat. He had put it out there, Dad, the demon, the trade, but Dean had batted the words back at him in a way which Sam could only stare at them, stare at the space that lingered between them as if it held the harshly realistic words he had no idea what to do with.

_What if he did? _

_My life for his soul. _

…_I did this to help you…_

"_I think I hear it! It's outside!" _

Sam turned at the last set of words, they hadn't come from his haunted memory, they'd come from Evan.

"_Just keep him alive, okay?" _ Dean ordered as he turned and stepped down the hall.

"_Dean--" _ Sam cast the name out weakly, like a hook which didn't come close to catching its target.

"_Go!" _Dean deflected, then exited from Sam's sight.

Sam fell into his thoughts:

_What the hell are you doing? _

…_I did this to help you…_

_Don't let him leave. _

…_I'd love to hear how you're gonna fix this…_

Sam flinched with the severity of waking from death.

"DEAN!"

Sam found himself moving, then standing just outside the house, his brother in front of him.

"What, Sam?" Dean questioned, his patience beyond short. "What is it?"

"Don't do this, Dean." Sam sounded desperate. "Don't go… please."

"Sam, this is settled," Dean said without hesitation. He then punctuated his point by turning back in the direction of his car. Sam rushed in front of him and blocked his path.

"I'll go!" The words came from his mouth before they had even entered his mind. "I'll go to the crossroad; you stay with Evan."

"Sammy-"

"Dean." Sam pushed the bag of black powder to his brother's chest. "Dean, _please_."

Dean took a moment to empathize, and if it were an option, he might have let his brother go. It wasn't an option.

"Sammy, I get it. _I do._ But…" Dean pushed the bag back at his brother. "I can't let you handle this." Sam's eyes flared with anger.

"Dean! I'm totally capab--"

"Normally, yeah," Dean cut him off smoothly, "but man, look- I don't know what the hell is going on with you lately." Sam shifted his eyes away uncomfortably as his stance flexed into that of a resistant teenager. "You're not…" Dean reluctantly released the word. "…stable."

Sam turned on him and grabbed the bullshit by the horns.  
"_I'm_ not stable?" Sam questioned incredulously. "Screw you Dean!" He threw the bag of powder at his brother, who dodged and watched as it smacked into the steps of the house. "Give me the keys!" Sam shouted fiercely.

"Fuck you," Dean growled as he pushed past him. Sam snatched Dean by the collar, pulled him into a vicious hold, and glowered down at him. Dean had rarely seen Sam this irate. He was surprised, but not impressed.

"What ya gonna do, Sammy? Punch me cause I'm right?" He challenged. "You can't get in the middle of trapping this demon and black out, or pass out, or whatever the hell has been happening to you and you know it!" Sam shook with fury, but his gaze held steady. Dean brought his confrontational tone down a notch. "This isn't about you or me, or what we can handle. This is about Evan. You wanna chance _his_ life on this… _his soul?_"

Sam's aggressive stance slowly withdrew. Dean was right, and he only knew a fraction of it. He still thought Sam was just passing out, he had no idea the guilt, the voices, and whatever the hell else was afflicting him had escalated into full blown delusional visions. Sam released his brother, turned away, and nodded in reluctant defeat.

"I gotta go," Dean said quietly, and without another word, he got into the Impalla, and was gone.

A car ride and a shit load of buried emotions later, Dean grabbed the small metal box and stepped out of the Impala. He walked to the center of the crossroad, eyed the area with apprehension, and drew his breath in gradually, as if sucking a mellow buzz out of thick, smoke filled air. Dean let himself think about the deals which had been made here, the trouble that had been started, the evil which had been bought and spread. Then he thought back to bluesman Robert Johnson.

Blues. The devil had appeared and offered blues beyond any sound which had yet to be heard, yet to be felt. Robert Johnson had stood at his crossroad and made a decision to sign his soul away in the blood he eventually choked on.

Dean needed to keep his head about him. He wasn't here to bind any deals of his own, he wasn't here to settle his throbbing curiosity about his father's death, he was here to trap and end evil, to disperse it in the hope of saving Evan Hudson from the same relentless fate which he had propelled his own father into. Dean looked at the dusty earth beneath his feet, and knelt to bury the beginnings of what was his only plan. If he had his way, he was going to save somebody who had made the same misguided mistake his father had decided upon.

Dean patted the dirt into place as he cursed internally. He was going to save a stranger's soul, and knew damn well that no part of that process could involve saving his father's soul, or even his own.

* * *

The Impala pulled down the damp night road. Sam sat glancing about his lap, unsure of where to settle his eyes as he pushed himself into the query which taunted his thinking. He glimpsed at the driver's seat, at his brother. 

"_Hey, Dean?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_When you were trapping that demon, you weren't…" _Sam hesitated._ "I mean, it was all a trick right? You never considered actually… making… that deal… right?"_

Dean knew what his job had been at the crossroad, and he had done it. He had kept his thoughts in check, and saved only who he had gone to save. But keeping thoughts in check, and keeping them from entering his head… two different fucking things… _entirely._

Dean reached forward and turned his music on loud. It wasn't singing blues, it was screaming rage, rage Dean condensed into dormant storage.

Sam fidgeted uncomfortably; he had gotten his answer.

He sat for a moment feeling shoved aside, yet again strung off at a distance. He'd had it with Dean's ongoing shit. He didn't think, he didn't hesitate, he grabbed the wheel, and turned it abruptly towards the passenger seat, causing the car to jerk violently off the road. Dean slammed his foot to the break and brought the car to an official stop somewhere deep beyond the shoulder.

"What the fuck, Sam?!" Dean freaked. "Are you insane?!"

"Are you?" Sam countered.

"What?"

"You did, didn't you?!"

"Did what?"

"Considered it! Considered trading yourself!"

"Sam, I'm not talking about this," Dean spat with disgust.

"There's a fucking surprise!" Sam busted out of the car and walked a good twenty feet to the edge of the woods. Dean leaned forward into the passenger seat and shouted out the open door at his brother.

"Damn it, Sammy! Get back in the god damn car!" He gave it a second, knowing damn well his brother wasn't going to listen any more than he had. "Shit!" Dean threw himself back into his seat and let himself fume.

Sam remained on the edge of the woods. It was a dark night, but as the clouds drifted aside, they cleared the sky for the presentation of a full, and hauntingly bright moon. Its light cut downward and carved out the area in shadows and silhouettes, creating a two dimensional facade in the slightly fogy air. Sam let his eyes adjust as he straightened his stance and made it clear that his silhouette was going nowhere.

"Sam get back in the fucking car or I'm leaving your ass here! I mean it!" Sam absorbed his brother's threat.

"You're not goin' anywhere," Sam whispered. He turned so his left side was facing the Impalla, brought one hand to his throat, and dropped to his knees. He paused a moment, then fell forward as he slammed his other hand to the ground. Sam braced himself up, palm to the cold dirt, as he began to shake dramatically.

The simple image hit Dean hard.

"Sammy?" He hesitated at first, but as Sam buckled and collapsed fully to the ground, Dean bolted out of the car. He didn't even bother to shut the engine off, he just ran through the shadowed dirt and skidded to his knees at his brother's side. "Sam!" He reached down, grasped Sam by the shoulders, and began to turn him over. Before he could complete the motion he found himself being shoved onto his back and pinned into the dirt. Sam had broke out of his façade; he was fully conscious. He straddled his older brother's chest and kept him to the ground. "What the-?" Dean choked out his words from beneath the weight of his sibling.

"You're not getting away this time Dean, we're gonna talk about this!"

"You fucking faked passing out to get me over here?!"

"I did what I had to!"

"Get the fuck off me!" Dean pulled his legs off the ground and brought them rapidly around Sam's chest. He jolted Sam to left and as they went off balance, he rolled with the momentum and landed himself instead into the dominate position. With a rounded knee to the gut and a furious fist to the chest, Dean shoved his kid brother in place. "And stay off!" He shouted, then pushed off of Sam and stood. "Fuck Sam! You scared the shit out of me!" He complained.

"I doubt that," Sam commented with an attitude as he got to his feet.

"Excuse me?"

"Ya know Dean, I've been trying real hard to understand what it is you're going through."

"Yeah well, that makes two of us," Dean quipped.

"Can you stop?" Sam asked earnestly. "Can you stop with the sarcasm, with the crap, and god damn talk to me? Be _real_ with me?"

"Real? You want real?"

"I want you to talk to me!" Sam yelled. "To be honest!"

"Okay," Dean gave in. "I'll be honest. I'm worried about you!"

"We're talking about _you_, Dean!"

"We're talking about what's bothering me, and right now that's you!" Sam rolled his eyes and started to turn away; Dean grabbed him harshly by the shoulders and shouted with unreserved emotion. "Listen to me, damn it! You're all that I have!"

Sam's eyes went wide with shock, then dropped to focus on his brother's hands and the way they were dug firmly into his arms. It was harsh, but it was seriously meaningful physical contact, and Sam's legs shook weakly as he craved for more. Dean followed Sam's eye line to his hands and let go faster than he had grabbed hold. He took a half step back, as his hands tensed awkwardly.

"Sammy…" Dean tried to look his brother in the eyes. "I don't know what's happening to you… the way you've been passing out, short of breath, freaked, and I know you're keeping stuff from me." Sam's stomach sunk with nausea, his skin pricked with rattled nerves, and he lied through his teeth.

"I'm fine Dean," he muttered quietly. "I'm just… you don't need to worry about it." Dean eyed his brother.

"I can't do that, Sammy."

"What?" Sam questioned nervously.

"I can't _not_ worry about it… not worry about _you_." Sam shifted uncomfortably, as he realized his brother was being genuine. "Sam look, I don't know when I'm doing right, and when I'm doing wrong with you anymore. I just know… I know you're not okay." Sam looked away; Dean forced himself to keep going. "You've been… your trying to be strong with everything… for me. I see that, and I appreciate it… trying to take the brunt of it all cause you think I'm hurting--"

"You are hurting!" Sam interjected angrily. "Dean, whatever Dad did, it's done! He's gone… and I'm sorry, _believe me_, but there's nothing you can do about it!"

"Sam, I'm not talking about what Dad did! I'm talking about what _you did_!" A sudden silence cut between them, as Dean absorbed what he'd just let slip. It was too late to confront his father, but his brother was standing directly in front of him. "Sammy…" He said with a shake to his voice, "I know what you did."

"I… did what, man?" Sam resisted awkwardly. "What are you talking about?"

"Sammy…" Dean stepped forward, reached out, and took his brother's left wrist into his hand. He looked him in the eyes, then brushed his thumb up over Sam's scars. "I remember."

Sam's head went light with denial; he could feel himself about to go down, to literally fall to the ground. He wasn't about to let that happen, he wasn't about to give Dean the satisfaction of thinking he _knew_ something. _He's lying, _Sam told himself._ He couldn't possibly..._ Sam ripped his hand away from his brother, and turned to anger.

"No!" Sam shook his head fiercely.

"Sammy…"

"No! You don't what you're talking about! You--"

"The hospital!" Dean persisted. "The bathroom… what you did!"

"I didn't-"

"You cut yourself Sam! I was _there_! Maybe not physically, but I was still there! I saw it all!"

Sam shook his head as his eyes went slightly vacant. His lower lip began to shake, and the rest of his body slowly followed suit.

"You…" Sam tried to steady himself, "you're lying… you…" Sam stopped talking and drifted in thought.

Dean watched his brother as the situation closed in on him from all sides. That look, that same damn look, the one Dean had seen in Sam's eyes that day at the hospital. The anguish it contained, the anguish which Dean had no control over stopping.

"Sammy," Dean whispered as he stepped towards him.

"How long?" Sam asked putting a hand up to halt his brother's movement.

"What?" Dean questioned.

"How long have you known? This whole time? You've know this whole--"

"No… no," Dean replied abruptly. "Only since that morning after we were with Gordon. At the car… when I tried to re-bandage your arm."

"That…" Sam stumbled in thought. "That was still weeks ago."

Suddenly Dean couldn't help but feel pretty much like an uncaring jerk. He _had_ know for weeks, and he hadn't done a thing, not a damn thing.

"I'm sorry, Sam… I just… I couldn't talk about what I couldn't make sense of… why Dad… why you?"

"Because we couldn't lose you, damn it!" Sam shouted in frustration. "You said it yourself, Dean… to Evan. Evan sacrificed himself because of the pain he would have felt at losing the person who meant everything to him! Dad and I made the same decision! We did what we did because we were selfish... because we couldn't just stand by and do nothing, not when we thought we could save you!"

Dean's gaze seemed to twist as he shook his head in disagreement.

"Maybe…" he concluded, "and I can almost understand… but…"

"What?" Sam interrupted, wanting his brother to simply empathize.

"Sammy… the pills," Dean stated plainly, "in the motel bathroom, the night I was at the bar." Sam's eyes almost seemed to buckle, to fold. He had always known there was a chance Dean would someday recall what he'd done with the knife. But the pills, he never thought he'd get called on his weakness that night. Sam slowly stepped away, no real place to run.

"And when I punched you," Dean kept the hits coming, as a harsh nausea invaded Sam's system. "That same night… you _wanted_ me to hit you. You knew what kind of anger I had… and you…" Dean hesitated and took in his brother's vulnerable form, the kid was shaking, skittish as an abused child. Dean's lip quivered and he found himself asking words he never thought he'd have to say. "Sammy, tell me you didn't want me to hurt you_... please._"

Sam looked up, his eyes holding back thick tears, his mouth slightly open, breathing heavily, mind trapped in a confused and frail connection to reality.

"I… I'm so sorry." Sam finally managed.

Dean tightened his expression and looked away, continuing to listen to his brother's staggered apology.

"Dean I… I'm sorry, but… I did… I did all of it." Sam looked at his brother; but Dean still wouldn't meet his eyes. "I know you can never forgive me. I know you can't understand. The pills, and the punch, and everything that followed, I was weak, and I just couldn't deal with it all…" _Alone,_ Sam added to himself. "But that first time, the cutting, at the hospital. You have to understand… I made that decision because I truly believed I could save you Dean… and whether you like it or not… I'd make the same damn decision again."

Sam paused briefly as he tried to compose himself enough to keep talking. "I'm just… I'm sorry if that decision hurts you… I'm sorry…" Sam choked back his tears as he pushed out his words, "I'm just so fucking sorry." Sam hesitated, waiting for his brother to respond, to say any damn thing at all.

Nothing came but silence.

"Dean… say something man… please."

Dean threw him a short glance; he said nothing.

Sam folded his arms, then brought a fisted hand to his mouth. Painfully unsure of where they stood, honestly believing Dean was through with him, Sam worked desperately to hold in what he was feeling. He turned and walked away, moved to the trunk of the Impala, leaned against it, and as his emotions finally got the better of him, he slid to the ground, and broke into deep sobs.

Dean stood his ground, paralyzed by his inability to act in any direction.

Sam needed help, and he had no idea how to provide it. The only thing Dean really knew how to do was protect his brother, and he had lost faith in his ability to come through fully in that respect long ago.

Dean looked up into the cool burn of the full moon and thought of the crossroad.

A crossroad wasn't always a physical spot where the moon shined down, and the devil showed up. A crossroad was what you faced anytime your mind set into a junction with a decision.

There was no music creeping up from the devils mind of this particular crossroad, but there was blues, blues sung out in the sound of deeply mournful sobs, pain sung from his brother's soul, lonely, tortured, and only distantly heard.

_Step toward regret and you bind your soul to the depths of hell…_

_Step where you've been, and you remain the poignant path of a free, yet stagnant soul… _

_Step to arm's length, and watch distanced as those around you drift and darken, their soul slowly replicating in your pained example… _

_But step where you fear: toward suffering, toward failure, toward anguish of those you love- and hold your legs steady, cause one way or another, it's bound to bring you to your knees._

Dean stood, feet set in his own prints, hands caught in the still and unmoved night air, thoughts withdrawn, strung down and jacked into his soul, ready to bury or embrace it with a single step, with a single decision.

Sam sat in the dirt, his back pressed against the trunk of the Impalla, knees pulled to him, head dropped down, shaking… uncontrolled… alone.

What he was feeling, it was too much. He couldn't think anymore, he couldn't react anymore, he couldn't fight anymore. It just hurt. It plain old fucking hurt.

He was alone; he would stay alone.

_He won't leave me, _Sam calculated. _Dean would never leave me, but… he's already gone. He's gone and he doesn't even see it. He did die that day, right along side Dad, and you're… you've lost him… you've fucking lost him._

Sam let the sobs rack through his body as he clutched at his scalp and turned to his pain for salvation. If Dean was lost, he was going to be lost right along with him. Sam called upon the voices and visions to come, to consume, to resurrect him into a reality where he could build his own walls, where he could no longer be tempted to try and reach his brother, where his brother could no longer reach him.

Sam fisted his hand and beat it into his head. He hit slow, deliberate, and hard into the soft spot of his temple. Over and over he drew his fist out and swung… swung until something suddenly grasped his wrist mid motion.

It slid up into his fist, and pushed it open. Sam's hand went limp as it was clasped lightly and lowered to his side.

He didn't know what to make of it, but a gentle hand slowly brushed into his hair, pushed his bangs away from the spot he had been brutally beating, and settled softly. It felt warm, it felt caring, and it calmed him, but he still didn't know what the hell to make of it. He knew it was Dean, it had to be Dean, but he was so damn scared to open his eyes, so scared to open his eyes and have it go away.

The hand brushed up through his hair and onto the back of his head, then slid down onto his neck and settled. He remained still, calm, unable to move in the silence. Then the silence broke.

"Sammy?"

Sam opened his eyes, he could see his brother's legs kneeling in the dirt beside him; he couldn't look up.

"Sam." It came again slightly closer. His lower lip quivering, he lifted his head and found the strength to look at his brother. The face was shadowed, but he could see Dean's eyes, he could see he wasn't alone.

Without another word, Dean pulled him, silent and shaking. Sam slid off the back of the car and practically fell forward onto his brother. Knees to the ground, face to Dean's chest, Sam's breath hitched hard as he felt his older brother's arms actually come around him. One across his back, the other remaining tenderly on his neck, Dean pulled Sam in so tight he practically pressed the tears out of him. Sam sobbed silently, small whimpers releasing in his breath as he absorbed the fact that this was in fact happening. _Son of a bitch,_ Sam thought. _Son of a bitch._ He dropped his eyes shut and pressed them into the warmth of his brother's chest.

Dean held the embrace; he could hardly remember moving into it. He hadn't thought, he had just stepped, moved forward until he had locked his arms into where they were meant to be. Everything settled, and Dean held his brother, warm and breathing against his chest. This was his blood, his family, but he couldn't let the bond feel good, no matter how hard it tempted.

Dean felt the pain radiate off of his little brother. It wafted up and penetrated him with a soothing ease, drifted in, curled up his throat, and pushed at him from behind his eyes. _Fuck._ Dean endured it with a shudder: the pain, the horrific pain he still had no idea how to vanquish. _ I just wanna fix him, _Dean confessed, _save him… and I can't. _

Dean tightened his grip out of frustration, pulled in his thoughts with a breath of cool, fog filled night air, and shut his eyes. He was done, he couldn't hide anymore, he opened his eyes and spoke the truth.

"Sammy," he whispered. "I swore to protect you. I swore to Dad… I swore to myself. But everything… _this demon_… I just… I don't know what's gonna happen. Not to me… not to you. And I'm so damn scared… but I _can't_ promise I can save you. Too much is out of my control. I hate it… I fight it… but it just is.

So all I can offer is this... I can be your brother.  
If you need to talk to me, you can talk to me. If you need… if you need me to hold you… I _will_ hold you. And I'm _so sorry_… but these are the only things that are in my control. These are the only things I can _promise_."

Sam remained still for a moment, then pulled his tear tracked face from Dean's chest and looked up at him, bewildered by his brother's persistent ability to short change himself.

"Dean… _Jesus,_ don't you get it?" Sam spoke with amazement. "These are the only things I _need_."

Dean's eyes widened as Sam's words both threw, and comforted him. He _could_ save his brother, and his brother could save him, at least in this moment.

Sam pushed his face back against Dean's chest, reached his arms around his older brother, and pulled him close; Dean dropped his chin gently to the top of Sam's head, shut his eyes, and strengthened his embrace.

A surreal calm bonded the brothers.

They could have their solace, they could have their peace, because they had  
each other.


End file.
